


Full Body Control

by lun27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Attempted Abortion, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Femme Fatale, One Night Stands, Sex, Slytherin, St Mungo's Hospital, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lun27/pseuds/lun27
Summary: DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: This story contains ...- mentions of rape/ a discussion about it. Nothing explicit.- Mentions of self harm and injury- psychological violence- attempted abortionWhen Hermione becomes pregnant after a one-night stand, she tries everything to get rid of it. Only after St. Mungo's staff confronts her with the conservative realities of a post-war wizarding world and the father of the child, does she realise how big the mess is she is stuck in.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 116
Kudos: 275





	1. The First Month

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story told in nine chapters (Plus one extra).
> 
> INFO/WARNING:
> 
> This story deals a lot with the topic of abortion and unwilling motherhood. There is also mentions fo self harm and mental issues. You are welcome to have your own views on abotion and share them, but please be polite, as we all know it's a sensitive topic. I did research on abortion in the UK for this story, so everything on that is more or less realistic. I did research on pregnancy as well, but seeing as I am not a mother myself, what is written in this story is basically textbook research.
> 
> Rape is only implied and brought to discussion. No explicit scenes.
> 
> o.O.o
> 
> I had this story uploaded to FFN for some time now and decided to put this here as well after a lovely comment reached me on one of my other stories :)
> 
> Betas: Nora Fares, FantasticLavenderCrystals

Life is messy, but some things were just too much.

Hermione wanted to weep, all out throwing-herself-on-the-floor-and-pulling-at-her-hair-weeping. But life rarely asked her what she wanted, so she straightened up and marched out of _St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_ without a backward glance.

She didn't even have to stop to wonder at what point her life had gone downhill so fast. Because she knew. _Oh, she knew_ , and there was absolutely no use in pointing fingers.

_Especially not at Draco Malfoy_ , even though all she wanted to do was punch his nose again as she had done in third year. And then maybe drag him back to his king-sized bed again like she had done last month.

Who was she kidding? She had loved it! He probably had too, if he would remember any of it.

But what exactly was _it_?

It was like an _infection_ , festering inside her since the war had ended, since Ron had— _No, she wouldn't go there, not again_. She could feel tears coming to her eyes—crying wasn't an option now, and thinking about Ron would definitely make her cry.

There was this itch she desperately tried to scratch, but every time she attempted to, she fell apart at the seams. It was as if all that was holding her together just fell away, like old tape peeling off her flat's wall until the photos she had attempted to hang with it just fell to the ground.

Hermione left Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, and entered Muggle London. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down and stop at a traffic light instead of just walking on, maybe to reach the other side without a scratch, maybe to be hit by one of London's famous red coaches or the even more dangerous taxis with their round, shiny surfaces, speeding through the tightly packed streets like angry beetles.

Hermione had never bothered to pick up any of the old photographs, instead she sometimes counted the days until the next one would fall. The picture Colin had taken of Dumbledore's Army was holding on by a thread, it would be next.

The pictures with Ron had all fallen behind a cupboard, but at least Harry and Ginny were still smiling at her. Theirs was the most recent picture she had put up, after all. The tape was still fresh.

The photo where Neville proudly held up a slimy-looking twine that held his arms captured had fallen the day Hermione had told him that he wasn't what she was looking for moments after they had shared yet another unsatisfactory tryst. He hadn't talked to her since, and Hermione had watched with regret in one and a bottle of Firewhiskey in the other hand as the picture slowly tilted forward and then dropped with a small 'flop' to the ground. It had clearly been a sign from some higher deity. Hermione had laughed at that thought and immediately started crying when she remembered how much Lavender had used to interpret into these signs. Lavender, who had been most annoying in their school time with her giggles and her "Won-Won". Lavender, who had been torn apart by Fenrir Greyback at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione sometimes had the feeling that she was the only one that hadn't managed to glue back together all her parts like apparently everyone else around her had done within months after the end of the war.

Sex helped, that was something she had discovered soon after Ron. But Neville hadn't been enough. He had been nice, considerate. He had been kind, and his eyes had never stopped looking worried. How could you focus on fucking someone when they looked at you as if you'd fall apart like a china doll at the tiniest of touches?

Trying to focus on the road ahead of her, she pushed aside the pit of dread that opened up in her stomach just thinking about what she had learned in the hospital.

It was a busy day, and she quickly got lost in the crowd of ever-hurrying people. Life in London was always stressful. Even if one had a day off and simply wanted to stroll around the city, it was impossible to not let the business people in their tight suits and skirts stress you out with their staccato of heels. Hermione couldn't help flinching every time a crazy cyclist nearly ran her over or when a taxi came to a squeaking halt at the traffic lights.

The city was in one word: _impatient_.

In school, Hermione had been impatient too. Impatient with her classmates for asking silly questions during lessons; impatient with her friends for not doing their homework until the last second; impatient with herself for not studying harder, studying more.

Now, she just watched others be impatient. Somewhere along the way, that characterisation had fallen from her like a dead leaf dropping from its tree in autumn.

Maybe it had been the long hours in the tent with Harry and Ron, waiting for the icy rain to stop so they could move on. Maybe it had been the endless funerals after the final battle, where everyone had to wait their turn to levitate a small pile of dirt onto the caskets.

A lot of her characteristics had fallen from her that way. Impatience was the one Hermione probably missed the least.

But now, the impatience stirred below the soles of her feet, desperate to reattach itself to her, clinging with autumn wetness to her skin, unwilling to let her move on without it.

She found a pharmacy on the corner of Hyde Park and bought a pregnancy test. Then she went back and bought two more.

Back in her small flat, she peed on the first stick hoping that the Mediwitch had been wrong. Hermione had always believed magic to be infallible, but this was maybe the first time that she hoped, _prayed_ it wasn't.

The Muggle method felt undignified. Magic was so much more elegant this way. It was quick, clean. But her upbringing made her hold onto these Muggle things. Because somehow, they felt normal. More real.

She peed on the second stick, positioning it next to the first on the window sill and ripping the packaging from the third. _Just to be sure_ , she thought.

Waiting for the tests to show results, she watched saw herself in the mirror. Impatience tapped her shoulder, but Hermione refused to turn away from her mirror image until the time had run out and the results were ready. She nervously wiped at the corner of her lips where the lipstick was a tiny bit smudged. Red, glorious lips were a great weapon. They were a great mask to put on. Nobody suspected a broken little girl behind the makeup of a grown up. _Or a prostitute,_ as her mother would have scolded.

Time was up, and she turned to the tests waiting for her. With a shaking hand, she gave each of the tests a critical and terrified, stare.

Three times positive. Three times _pregnant_.

She was _fucked_. Quite literally.

Malfoy didn't know. Well, he didn't remember. He knew now because the fucking Ministry had decided the father had to be informed. _Bloody hell_!

Seducing him and later obliviating him, Hermione had tried not to wasted another thought on the night they had spent in each other's arms. Maybe just one or two thoughts when she had laid in bed alone at night, trying to remember what it was like to feel skin on skin while she touched where his hands had touched her since she just couldn't help herself.

Three weeks later, Hermione had thrown up so violently that she was certain she had eaten something really bad. After the third day in a row of feeling miserable and tasting bile, she had dragged herself to St Mungo's.

She remembered what the nurse had said to her:

"Welcome, Miss Granger. You can call me Melinda. Please lie down." The nurse had a friendly smile and did some basic spells, removing the glamours Hermione had coated herself in and then went to fetch a Mediwitch.

Hermione hated to be exposed like this, her scarred abdomen visible to everyone, especially herself. The glamours kept her unremarkable. Unblemished. Without them, it was obvious how damaged she was. She was too thin, and she had scars.

The Mediwitch greeted her with the same friendliness the nurse had. _It didn't feel right_. Hermione wondered if they didn't realise how much she had neglected herself.

The healer did several tests, swinging her wand this and that way, watching tendrils of colourful light swirl around her torso. The witch poked her wand at them, prodded and manipulated them as if she was weaving a blanket with examination spells and not once did her expression change to accusing or worried. It must be obvious how Hermione treated her body, how she treated her mind; with too much alcohol and too little self-acceptance.

"Take this," the Mediwitch instructed, handing her a small vial with a kind smile that Hermione felt was undeserved. Then she was charmed with a complicated spell that even she was unfamiliar with.

"You'll feel a little faint for a moment. Lie back. It will be over in no time." After calling the nurse back in, the Mediwitch left. The nurse patted Hermione's shoulder as Hermione laid back onto the hospital couch. The ceiling span around as if it was a carousel. The magical remedies weren't exactly helping with the nausea at that point in time.

The Mediwitch had promised the nausea would stop after a few deep breaths, so with trepidation, Hermione allowed bountiful amounts of oxygen into her lungs. Relief—the ceiling had ceased to be a merry-go-round.

Then, the nurse helped her back up: "I'll show you the way, Miss Granger."

"Give me a moment, please," Hermione said. She quickly recast the glamours, enough people had seen her today. The nurse didn't seem to judge, or at least her smile remained unmoved.

"We need to go to another room to view your results," the nurse told her, as Hermione was led down the hall to the Mediwitch's the door open to a room that was signed ' _Conception Results_ ', the nurse said a polite goodbye and went.

Standing frozen in the doorway, Hermione Granger had felt herself breaking out in a cold sweat. The Mediwitch was already seated behind a large wooden desk, and on the other side, in one of the two chairs reserved for patients, sat Draco Malfoy.

Draco-fucking-Malfoy had no reason to be here. Absolutely _no reason_.

"What is he doing here?" Hermione didn't quite register her lips moving, but apparently the words had come from her mouth, because he was turning to her now, his gaze locked onto hers with just one raised eyebrow.

He said nothing.

Her mind then played a trick on her, supplying Hermione with the image of sucking his cock and then moving forward to the moment of her riding it.

The Mediwitch cleared her throat. "Please take a seat, Miss Granger."

The thing about politeness is that you can't really say no to it. It's a reflex so deeply rooted in the brain that it's near impossible not to respond to politeness. And so, Hermione sat.

"Mr. Malfoy here has been called to attend because of your current medical situation," the Mediwitch explained.

Hermione wished she would cut right to the point, tell her the unfortunate, miserable, news. Since when was Malfoy an expert in anything medical? Didn't he deal with big business or something? Probably real estate. All rich assholes worked in real estate. That was just common knowledge, because you needed a certain assholeness about you to send a poor old lady out of her longtime home when her husband had died and she was no longer able to pay the rent; or to order your tenant to either move out or euthanize their pet because pets simply were a no-go on your property; or to kick out a single mother who just lost her job.

She was still caught somewhere in that line of thinking when the Mediwitch said the impossible words: "Congratulations, Miss Granger. You are pregnant."

The witch looked at her, expecting an answer, a kind of reaction.

When Hermione remained frozen in exactly the same position—she could swear even her wild life-of-its-own hair, which usually swayed with every breath she took, stayed absolutely still.

The Mediwitch continued, taking in her patient's rigid posture as she spoke: "Well, um… as is procedure, we notified the father of your child after identifying him in the tests I conducted just now." She indicated towards Malfoy. "I understand you two are not married, but since the war, the Ministry has made the procedure a mere bureaucracy. So if you want to change your marital status, it is no problem at all to get an appointment within the next week."

The woman before her smiled as if that were the best news she had to deliver today. Although, taking into consideration that she probably had to deliver news of life-threatening illnesses and the death of loved ones, it probably was the best news she did deliver. But, her kindness was incredibly cruel because all Hermione wanted to do in that moment was scream.

"What?" she said instead, her mind unable to form a proper sentence.

"Oh, of course. I forgot, that you are not as familiar with the procedures as most witches. Don't worry, dear." That dear made her sound painfully like Molly Weasley: Hermione flinched. "Everything is taken care of. Mr. Malfoy here," she nodded her head at the blond ferret, "is fully responsible for you now. You are financially secured by law!" She had the nerve to smile like what she was suggesting was a good thing.

Hermione was handed a small pamphlet: "Here's a flyer with all the important information about the Ministry's most recent birth-program to increase and stabilise the population again after the war. The Pregnancy Retention and Treatment initiative obligates us to make sure the baby is safe at all times, including us taking over responsibilities and deciding on guardianship of the expectant mother to make sure the right decisions are made."

Hermione didn't quite catch all the words, though the Meditwitch had said them as if she had memorised them and repeated them a dozen times already. Instead, her eyes were glued on the pamphlet in front of her. "Prat?"

"It's P.R.a.T.," the healer said slowly.

"You really ought to think over that acronym," Hermione muttered. She looked the Mediwitch in the eyes. "Can-can I have a word with you. Alone?" It was incredibly hard to ignore Malfoy sitting there, listening to every word, looking at her every reaction, _breathing_ like a living human being.

"I'm afraid not. The father of your child is now fully responsible and therefore must be privy to all medical and financial aspects. It's for safety reasons, you must know. Pregnant witches are prone to hysteria."

_Hysteria_. Everything in Hermione curled up in discomfort.

"You don't have to worry about your job," the Mediwitch continued. "You are registered as have resigned automatically. They send their congratu-"

"I'm not sure you understand this situation, ma'am." Her words came out forced. "I am not having this child."

Then, she got her first judgemental reaction. In fact, the Mediwitch looked shocked.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. This pregnancy is protected by law." Her voice was stern now. "You must carry it to term. Abortion is illegal." The Mediwitch shuddered as she said the word 'abortion', like it was a spider crawling up her neck. "Since the war, our society is in desperate need of a growing younger generation."

Hermione swallowed. Swallowed twice. Through clenched teeth, she said, "I am ill. This child will die. _I will die._ "

"You underestimate our medical capabilities," the Mediwitch said with a frown.

"If you must know, I'm a psychological wreck and an alcoholic."

The smile returned, and it literally sent shivers down Hermione's spine. Disclosing her current state of mind in front of Malfoy, while actively ignoring his presence, of course, was one thing. But not being taken seriously, and with this patronizing, ever-polite smile was another thing entirely.

"Don't worry dear. The potion you took earlier takes care of all that."

"It, _what_?"

"You will see. It is the newest product on the market. It works wonders! And as for your mental health, the child's father is obliged to take care of you in every way possible. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy has the financial means to pay for good healers."

"Paying for… Bloody _hell_. I'm leaving!"

And she did just that. It must have shocked the Mediwitch into silence because no one called after her or stopped her.

That lead her back to her miserable apartment where she sat on the lid of her toilet staring at the three positive pregnancy tests that destroyed her last hope of this being just one big fucked up prank.

Bloody hell, indeed.

* * *

She knew she had a drastic change of lifestyle, _needed it even_ , a woman has her needs, after all. Hermione had found that sex was the best way to keep her mind from running in loops, to stop it from overthinking and from spiraling down into a dark hole only medication could pull her out from.

After Neville Longbottom, it had gotten first easier than harder to do it. Easier because she lost her inhibitions with each time, harder because after Seamus and McLaggan (and maybe the occasional other bloke), most men kept away from her.

There was something deterring about being one of many for men. They didn't care about that if they wanted plenty of pussy, but some needed to accept that pussy got plenty of dick too. Somehow, some men believe there's an entire population of willing sexually active women, so no women had to go with more than one or two men, and suddenly, their equations and the world makes perfect sense.

So when it got easier for Hermione to let herself go, and it got harder to find willing partners, she had gone on to new pastures.

Theodore Nott had been an easy victim. He hadn't even recognised her, after she had put on some more glamours than she usually did and had gotten him drunk enough. Even if he had recognised her, she had learned from her previous experiences with the Gryffindors that she just had to cast a quick and simple Obliviate to make sure he didn't go around telling his friends, before she got to screw them too.

Hermione was good at _Obliviate_ —she had mastered it at the age of 16, so it really was no trouble. Even inebriated, she managed to make sure they still remembered their own names when they woke up the next morning.

Goyle had been a sad fuck, he was still head-deep in grief for his friend, and Hermione couldn't deal with that even if he had grown out of his overweight and gotten bulky from his work as gamekeeper at Hogwarts. Hermione loved muscles.

She remembered clearly how she had turned over the bottles in the cabinet above her wash basin to check the expiration dates and then had taken one from the back because it only had a couple of weeks left.

In the Muggle world, she had learned to trust expiration dates with her life. Everything had an expiration date: Yogurt for 99p—give it three weeks; the sausage from the shop counter—five days; the grandma from next door—a month and a half. Yes, even people had an expiration date; Muggle doctors were very aware of that, and she still remembered her parents placing bets on when the next tooth from a lousy-brusher-patient would need replacement.

Hermione had trusted magical expiration dates to be reliable too. Magic was infallible after all, right? Accurate and clean. _Big mistake_. Like all things in life, magic tends to disappoint when it really matters.

Hermione's endgame had always been Malfoy.

It hadn't been easy with him because, of course, he recognised her; it had taken more than just a little champagne at the St. Mungo's fundraiser to make him willing enough to even talk to her. Thirty minutes of speeches later where people fawned over themselves and the great they had brought the world, Hermione had been ready to scrap it and just disappear from view.

Yet, deep inside, she had wanted him more than anyone else. He was the ultimate goal—Prince of Slytherin, King of prats ( _all prats are extremely good in bed, that's as sure as Newton's third law_ ). It gave her great satisfaction to finally get him to apparate her home with him after laying her cards on the table and simply telling him she wanted to fuck him to oblivion. Hermione had pushed him onto his bed, crawling on top of him. Feeling glorious. Feeling Powerful.

"Thanks for the sex, you beautiful bastard." These were her last words to him before she had oblivated him back to sleep.

Now, she felt anything but glorious and powerful, staring at the tests confirming the assessment of the Mediwitch. Just thinking about it caused her to grip her mane of hair in frustration. This was total _bullshit_!

Hermione stared down at the Muggle pregnancy tests as if she could set them on fire or maybe transfigure them into time turners with her glare. Then she resolutely threw them in the trash.

It was time to move on. _It was time to get rid of this nuisance_. Afterward, she could move far, far, away, never showing her face to the British magical society ever again to avoid the shaming that was sure to follow.


	2. The Second Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> Hermione stared down at the Muggle pregnancy tests as if she could set them on fire or maybe transfigure them into time turners with her glare. Then she resolutely threw them in the trash.
> 
> It was time to move on. It was time to get rid of this nuisance. Afterward, she could move far, far, away, never showing her face to the British magical society ever again to avoid the shaming that was sure to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to not post everything in a single day :) Leave me some reviews on the way so I know how many readers there are and I'll drop a new chapter every few days or whenever I have time :) I'm sure you're all hungry for stories while sitting this Corona thingy out.
> 
> Dr Restell was named after Ann Trow Lohman, better known as Madame Restell, who was a 19th-century British-born American abortionist who practiced in New York City.
> 
> The information on abortion treatment in this chapter is from the official website of the NHS and Marie Stopes dot org.
> 
> More Dramione next chapter!
> 
> Betas: Nora Fares, Fantasticlavendercrystals

She had about twenty weeks, her calculations inside her head must be right—they always were. _Enough time to get rid of this… of this…_ _nuisance_.

_Because it's nothing more than a nuisance really_ , Hermione decided. Pregnancies happened, even accidental ones, and she wasn't the only one to suffer that. Good thing Muggles were very inventive when it came to problem-solving. If the Healers at St. Mungo's were unwilling, she'd simply go to a Muggle doctor instead.

* * *

"Miss.."

"Granger," Hermione supplied and shook the doctor's hand.

"Of course, please excuse me. My schedule is quite loaded today, and I've always been bad with names." Doctor Restell was apologetic as he smiled at her, a white toothy smile. He had dark, indian features and a slight, endearing lisp. He had a softly-spoken voice, similar to the Healers at St. Mungo's, but the atmosphere was different. Here, Hermione felt like she was fully in control.

She was led into a small office. Not like those typical Doctor's offices with white furniture, laden with medical literature and mid-range paintings made by terrible local artists hanging on the walls. This office looked more like a living room. Warm, wooden floor, no desk separating her from the doctor but instead a low coffee table.

"Take a seat then, Miss Granger." The doctor smiled, and Hermione was confronted with choosing whether she'd prefer to sit on the plush looking couch or one of the armchairs. She didn't feel like the open space of the couch was a safe space. It allowed for too much nervous shuffling around, so she chose the armchair.

"I'll give you a short overview of how we will proceed, if that is okay?"

Hermione nodded, _yes._

"If you feel uncomfortable or have any questions, there is no wrong time to let me know. Feel free to interrupt at any point."

Another nod.

"We will first go through your medical history to see if there are any problems or risks. For legal requirements, I am obliged to ask about your reasons for an abortion. At some point, we will broach the topic of contraceptives—"

"—I know how to use contraception." It was defensive and incredibly impolite, but Doctor Restell didn't even frown.

"It is optional. I just want to make sure you know how to prevent becoming unwillingly pregnant again. It happens more often than one would think. Of course, there is absolutely no shame in that. Contraceptives fail sometimes. Nothing guarantees a hundred percent prevention rate."

Hermione nodded again. Nodded with maybe a little bit more sharpness than was necessary. She couldn't very well explain to this doctor how she had been failed by a magical contraceptive potion. That would sound absolutely ridiculous from his Muggle point of view. She just had to grin and bear the subtle inference that she was clueless about sex education.

"At this point, I want to tell you, and will probably repeat it several times, you have every right to decide whether to go ahead with this or not. It is your decision and your decision _only_. We will support you however possible."

She understood.

He leaned back in his chair after a brief pause. "Before beginning the actual procedure, we will need to assess your health. There will be an ultrasound scan, blood pressure check, blood tests, and tests for STDs."

That was unnecessary; Hermione checked herself for STDs every time she had sex with someone new. She was squeaky clean, even if most men from the wizarding world would suggest otherwise. "You will need to make extra appointments for those, and we will explain the tests and procedures during those appointments. Any questions so far?"

"Yes, actually… how long does this take? When can I—when…?"

"It can take up to three weeks, but we will try to get your appointments as close together as possible. Especially when there is little time left." Hermione felt herself relaxing into the cushions of her armchair as the doctor spoke. "I assume you are still relatively early along, so the easiest option for you is the medical abortion. It is a simple pill. You can take it until up to nine weeks."

Hermione breathed with relief. She had done her research, she was Hermione Granger after all, but nothing was more reassuring than a doctor suggesting this simple treatment.

"We have to talk about costs as well, of course."

Hermione tensed and nervously snagged her fingers in her lap.

"The NHS covers all treatment costs, I assume you are covered by that?"

Hermione shook her head. "No." Witches and wizards didn't have access to health security in the Muggle world. Why should they? Healing was quick and easy. Magic was quick and easy. Everyone could do it, at least the basic stuff. Especially since the war. She didn't even have an official UK citizenship anymore since she had been asked to decide for either one or the other after the Ministry had been caught up with bureaucracy after the war. The NHS didn't cover for non-citizens when it wasn't a life-threatening procedure.

"Okay, that is no problem. We also provide private abortion treatment."

"How much?" Hermione already calculated the meager Galleons in her Gringotts account. It certainly wasn't much.

The doctor snagged a paper and a pen from the table and made a list. "The consultation fee is £85.00 and the treatment price is £475.00." Drawing a line below those numbers, the doctor added them up to £560.00.

That was more than her rent. Hermione swallowed. But then she reminded herself of why she needed this, and that it was worth all the fortune she'd ever own in her life. Because if she remained pregnant, her life would be over soon.

"Can I pay in cash?" Because there was no way she could send the money from Gringotts, not in Galleons.

The doctor nodded. "We do accept cash, that is no problem."

"Okay." She wiped her hands on her jeans. "Okay. When can I start the treatment?"

"We can make you an appointment for Friday to look at your general health and do all the necessary tests. How does that sound?"

"Great, yeah."

"You will need to cover the costs of that appointment. Will that be a problem?"

"No, no problem at all." She'd find a way. That was still three days to get the money.

"How long are you along? Can you pin it down to an exact date?"

"Four weeks, three days," was her prompt reply. The exact date was impossible to forget. It had landed her in this huge pile of dragon dung, after all. Plus, it had been quite _memorable_ … Hermione shook her head briefly, trying not to think about Malfoy on top of her, biting her neck and thrusting into her again and again and again…

The doctor continued: "Good, then I now have to ask you why you want an abortion? It might be uncomfortable for you, but I am required by law to ask this question."

"I understand, Doctor Restell. I can't have this child. Honestly, I couldn't raise it properly."

"You know there is financial aid—"

"It's not just about finances. My life is a mess, and I… can't guarantee that I won't do something during the pregnancy that might harm the child. I—" Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times, looking for the right words to sugarcoat her unhealthy alcohol consumption.

"It's alright, Miss Granger. I understand."

The doctor's friendly and unjudging smile was a balm to her soul.

"Okay then, tell me about your medical history. Anything that runs in the family?"

Hermione lied around her personal medical issues, explaining that her family was relatively clear of any inheritable diseases.

The appointment was over after half an hour, and Hermione still felt her fingers tremble the whole way back home.

She felt like every Muggle in the Underground and on the Tube knew about it. As if they were staring and judging and talking about her behind her back, typing it into their incredibly tiny phones and murmuring into their seat neighbour's ears like Chinese whispers.

* * *

Hermione needed to pay Harry a visit. He was a reliable friend and now she needed him to be a good friend and lend her money. It went against her very nature to ask Harry for money, but she figured she didn't really have any other options.

Harry had more than once offered to help her out: finding a nicer flat, buying new furniture, getting her heater repaired. Of course Hermione had always refused. She could take care of herself. She needed no man to help her, even if that man was her best friend and only wanted the best for her.

Once Hermione had thought that Ron could be the man she'd let take care of her. But that train had left the moment… she refused to let her mind wander down memory lane and threw a handful of Floo-powder into her tiny fireplace.

"12th Grimmauld Place." The flames swallowed her, dragging her through time and space and spit her out on a rug, covered in soot and coughing. Nausea knocked on the door to her throat, but Hermione swallowed and willed it down by sheer will-power.

"Hermione!" a surprised and noticeably panicked voice exclaimed.

"Sorry for appearing unannounced, I—" She stopped mid-sentence. _Well, that was a view._

Hermione found herself stood in front of her best friend boning his wife on the sofa. Hermione quickly turned around. "Never heard of locking your Floo?"

She heard scrambling behind her. Seeing Harry's bits wasn't exactly something she had expected today. Not that she had never seen them, living in a tent for nearly a year did leave them with little privacy, and personal space was a concept that simply didn't exist out in the wild and on the run. Not that Ginny needed to know about that. Seeing Ginny's bits certainly wasn't new to Hermione either, although the last time had been back when Hogwarts had still been a place like home, when the dormitories were cosy and the girls curious and unabashed.

Seeing those bits in action… well, Hermione was no virgin, obviously, but sometimes three is no good for company.

"Erm, you can turn around now." Hermione did, cocking her head, as Harry rubbed his neck awkwardly. He had pulled back on his jeans and jumper. The last item of clothing was inside out, but who cared?

"I still have to do some cleaning," Ginny said hurriedly and vanished into the kitchen. Hermione knew Ginny didn't like her that much. At least not since Hermione was like this, so… broken.

There had at one point been a fight when Hermione had babysat little James and Harry and Ginny returned, to find her passed out on the sofa with a bottle of Harry's whiskey on the coffee table. Which meant within reach of curious hands. And Jamie, the little devil in Niffler clothing was always curious. Hermione had felt bad, so bad. Poor Jamie had sat in the corner with a conjured bucket, bawling his eyes out. He hadn't understood why the jucky liquid made his stomach queasy, or why Mummy was screaming at Auntie Hermy, and he hadn't understood the bad, bad words Auntie Hermy had been screaming back. Ginny had screamed at her like a bloody Banshee, which resulted in Hermione saying some pretty ugly things back to the red-head. Luckily, Harry was there to pull them apart before they tore the hair from one another's scalps.

Since then, Ginny hadn't looked into Hermione's eyes, and Hermione hadn't looked into hers. It was too much of a reminder what a total fuck up she had become. Even Harry didn't trust her with Jamie anymore, despite the fact that she _adored_ the boy. It was goddamn painful to not even be allowed to hold him.

"You really could have let us know you intended to pay a visit. We would have prepared some lunch or…"

"Where do you hide the little rascal?" Hermione interrupted. She had no intention of staying for an awkward lunch with Ginny ignoring her and Harry trying himself at light-hearted small talk. It wasn't exactly a skill of his.

Harry shrugged. "We asked Molly to take him for a bit. We needed some alone time."

"I can see that."

"So… are you in trouble?" He laughed awkwardly.

Hermione looked at the couch and then decided otherwise and flopped down on an armchair instead. She really was an armchair-girl. Even if the only other choice wasn't just the sofa people used for shagging just moments before. Armchairs had something controlling. Like a throne. And they were a fortress with high rests, circling her like a protective shield. "Actually, yes, I need some help."

"Oh." Harry stared at her for a second or two and then plopped down on his fuck-couch.

Grimacing, Hermione realised that she wasn't exactly one to ask for help. "I know, it's just… just this one time. Promise. I need a little financial aid."

There, that was a nice way to wrap it. Clear, without revealing too many dirty bits. She was going to be professional about all this.

"Since when do you ask for money for anything?" Her cheeks reddened. "Don't get me wrong." Harry quickly back-paddled. "I'll support you, whatever you need. Just… well, you've turned my help down several times. I'm—I'm _worried_ , Hermione."

"Aren't we all?" She sighed.

He frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin'." Rubbing her eyes, Hermine decided that Harry deserved the truth. At least a bit of it. "I need it for a medical procedure."

He gasped, "You're sick?"

"No! No, nothing like that." Merlin, the last thing she needed was Harry thinking she was terminally ill or worse. She had caused him enough grief.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to find a good starting point and then decided on the briefest version possible. "I'm pregnant. I need an abortion, and it costs £560.00. I have currently about £200 in my bank account, so the next rent will probably be late again… I'll give it back as soon as I can, I promise."

Harry leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at her. She had to give it to him, he didn't stare straight at her belly.

"I don't know, Hermione…" he spoke steadily, the words forming in his mouth in slow motion as if he was sculpturing them from thin air. "Abortion is—I'll be honest with you, abortion shouldn't be taken lightly, I mean, honestly, Hermione—it's a baby you're talking about. You are kind of responsible for its life now."

Anger flared within her. "I am responsible for me and my body alone. This pregnancy, it will kill me. My body was never meant to have a child."

"But the child is there now." Harry looked at her helplessly.

Of course he wouldn't understand. Harry had hated the Muggle world and had never grown up with freedom and modern society the way Hermione had. He had lived in the sheltered Hogwarts or in the prison of his aunt and uncle's home. He had been cut off from modern society in all ways possible. He was more part of this backwards wizarding society than he was part of the modern world outside of it. And with that came all those backwards wizarding morals about the proper way to live a life. Marry the girl with a big ring, make her a nice home, get her pregnant. Eat, breed, sleep, repeat.

"Okay, don't give me the money. I can't force you." She got up and moved to the fireplace.

"Wait." His arm shot out and stopped her. "What are you going to do, Hermione?"

"Get a loan."

He looked at her with disbelief. "With your financial situation you'll never be able to pay it off."

She shrugged. "I'll never be able to pay off the financial blow a child would make to my bank account either, so it really doesn't matter."

"Damn, Hermione. I'll never understand what's gotten into you," Harry said, with a sad look on his face.

"Don't feel bad, Harry. I'm a terrible friend. I should have never asked you." Hermione felt bad, she wanted to leave. But Harry pulled her back, and suddenly, he hugged her.

"You know, I'm kinda glad that you're still as stubborn as ever. At least that's still you."

Hermione laughed, and then she cried. Stubbornness had never been one of her nice characteristics. She was bossy, a know-it-all. People had told her that countless times. They used to at least. Hearing it now, when everything else about her had changed, it felt like someone had given her back a missing piece of herself. It hurt to put it back into the void it had left, but it felt like finally being _something_ again. She held onto Harry and cried embarrassing tears over an undesired characteristic.

"I'll give you the money, and please, please let me pay your bloody rent," Harry said as he rubbed soothing circles on her back.

Hermione wanted to say thank you, but her throat got choked up, and she wasn't just crying over being called something that sounded like herself again. She cried for how miserable her life had turned out.

Oh damn it, she really needed a drink.

* * *

For the sake of the treatment, Hermione had locked away her alcohol. She was rather proud that she hadn't touched it. It was fucking difficult, and more than once she had stood with a bottle in hand, ready to chuck it all down.

But she needed to get rid of this nuisance first. She refused to call it a baby or child or even a fetus. It was a little blob inside her, a bundle of cells, nothing she needed to give a nice name.

The tests only needed minor changes, nothing a small wave with her wand couldn't do, to show good enough results, and she was ready for treatment.

"Miss Granger, are you ready?" Doctor Restell smiled at her, and Hermione couldn't help return it. Today was the first step back to control. Who knew, maybe she'd try to get her life under control afterward as well.

"You remembered my name," she teased.

Laughing, the doctor washed his hands and used disinfect. Then he turned to Hermione with a serious expression.

"Are you sure you want to do this? There is no going back from this point."

"I am." She was.

"Alright, so here's the pill," he produced a small pill packet from one of the drawers. "It's called Mifepristone. When you take the first pill, the hormone allowing the pregnancy to continue working will be stopped. Afterwards you can go home, go about your usual activities.

Tomorrow, we'll see each other again for the second pill, Misoprostol. It takes up to six hours from that point on for the lining of the womb to break down. You will experience bleeding, and the pregnancy is ended. You can choose to stay at the clinic, but you are allowed to go home during this process. I'd recommend having someone close by though. It helps to have support. It can be very emotional, even if you now feel that your decision is as certain as can be.

If the bleeding doesn't start, which is unlikely but can happen, we'll have to do a small operation after all, but there is only a slight chance that might happen."

Hermione listened, taking in all information like a sponge. It almost felt like going back to school again. Only the topic had gotten more real and more serious.

"Okay, I'm ready."

She accepted the pill and a plastic cup filled with water. Tossing back first the pill and then the water, she waited for a second.

"That was easy." Hermione laughed awkwardly and relieved. And then she threw up.

Doctor Restell had amazing reflexes. Somehow he managed to get a kidney dish from out of nowhere and held it for Hermione while pushing her hair out of her face. "There, there. Don't worry. That must be the nerves."

Hermione managed a nod. She whimpered as another wave of nausea hit her and threw up again.

A few minutes later, she tried another pill, but this time, she didn't even get it into her mouth before throwing up a third time. Or at least her body tried to vomit, but all Hermione managed to do at this point was dry heaving.

"Okay, we will stop this here," the doctor finally said. "We still have time. I want you to go home now. Sleep a little, try to eat something, and then I'll see you again tomorrow."

"But—"

"No buts." His voice was stern, it sounded so much like her father that moment, Hermione wanted to cry. What was _wrong_ with her? She needed to get this over with. "Do you have a friend you can stay with? Maybe that will help you relax. Or your parents?"

Hermione shook her head, but at the worried expression of the doctor, she quickly said, "I'll go see Harry." What she really meant was: I'll go take some peppermint liquor to battle the wave of anxiety that threatens to drown me at the moment.

"That's a good idea. If you need to reschedule tomorrow, that's no problem. Just give us a call."

"I'll be here," Hermione said with certainty.

"Alright. I have other patients, but I want you to lie down a little here and only go home when you feel better. Don't strain yourself, okay?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

"Not for that." The doctor smiled and patted her knew. "See you tomorrow, Miss Granger." And then Hermione was alone.

She slowly sank back against the rustling paper cover of the stretcher, trying to breathe deeply. The nausea had stopped as fast as it had claimed her, but she felt shaky and knew that she must be as pale as Sir Nicholas.

Only managing to lie still without going completely crazy for five minutes, she took her bag and cloak and left.

* * *

Hermione told herself that this was alright, just a little delay. She still had two weeks left to abort with the pill. Her mind was just overthinking.

That evening, Hermione opened her wine—the cheap one with a screw cap instead of a cork stopper. The walls were closing in and nothing could keep her from falling into blissful nothingness for a couple of hours.

Numb had become her favourite feeling. Everything was better when she was numb. Everything was easier.

Snuggling into her comfy-blanket, she took the first sip of wine and pushed a cheescracker between her lips. The perfect combination. She refused to feel bad for whatever alcohol could do to that thing inside her, since it wouldn't live to see the consequences.

Though her stomach seemed to think the opposite, because she wasn't even able to swallow, before she was above the toilet, emptying bile into the porcelain.

That was the point when Hermione slowly realised that it wasn't a coincidence that she hadn't been able to keep the abortion pill down. Something was terribly wrong.

She tried again like all proper scientists do: trial and error until one day the same experiment lead to different results. But the result remained the same, and at one point, Hermione collapsed on her cold bathroom floor, too exhausted to get up, her throat burning and her stomach painfully knotted.

She could neither drink wine nor scotch. Panic would have taken over had she not been so exhausted that she fell asleep right there on the uneven tiles.

* * *

Everything hurt, she was hungry and thirsty and cold, so cold. Yet, she noticed she was sweating. Her shirt clung to her body like hair after a bath. Distantly, Hermione was aware that she had woken up several times. Once she had even managed to go to the toilet and somehow brush her teeth. Her toothbrush on the floor next to her was a testament to that. But when that had happened, it was a question she had no answer to.

She felt like a deer that had been run over by a truck. She felt as if she was dying.

Her every bone had trembled. She tried to close her eyes against the terrible feeling of doom rising within her.

She was going to die. _She was going to die. She was going to die!_ Alone, and no one would know until it was too late. In the darkness of her mind, she felt like a tiger behind bars, so she opened her eyes again. Trying to push herself up, she only managed to scratch her fingers across the tiles until her nails nearly snapped in the joint between them. Her heart was racing. Not just beating fast but _racing_ like a wild animal trying to jump from her chest.

Lying there, it felt like an eternity and with every ticking second, Hermione thought she might feel the breath of death brushing her cheek. So she pressed closer to the floor and waited.


	3. The Third Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betas: nora fares and fantasticlavendercrystals
> 
> Previously:
> 
> She was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to die! Alone, and no one would know until it was too late. Her heart was racing. Not just beating fast but racing like a wild animal trying to jump from her chest.
> 
> Lying there, it felt like an eternity and with every ticking second, Hermione thought she might feel the breath of death brushing her cheek. So she pressed closer to the floor and waited.

Bright light branded the insides of her eyelids in a blood-like red. Hazy figures moved at the corners of her field of vision. Hermione shut her eyes tightly, avoiding the light stabbing relentlessly through her irises. Cruel, cruel light.

The stiff blankets covering her irritated her skin, and a fuzzy feeling coated her tongue. And her head. Morgana herself must have hit her with a sledgehammer. Repeatedly.

She tried to remember how she had gotten here. Right, she had been on her bathroom floor. It was difficult to say for how long she had been there, the grip of anxiety still lingered in her sore muscles. It must have been magically induced withdrawal. Or maybe it had just been the rising fear that had consumed her.

It really was embarrassing how weak she was. At some point, she remembered, someone had broken her wards and found her on the floor. Harry maybe? Or someone from the hospital? After all, they had done something to her that had prevented her from taking any kind of drug, was it medication or alcohol. She was mortified by the thought of some stranger breaking into her flat to drag her from the bathroom floor like some forgotten dirty rag.

Blinking against the light shining through a window with milky glass, Hermione slowly got up. It was much like one of those drunken one-night-stands where she had been too intoxicated to leave until the morning. Just a thousand times worse.

She willed herself to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare legs. Hospital clothing, _oh yay._

A quick search of the room revealed her clothes—those she had worn when they must have found her—freshly washed and folded.

Putting them on quickly, she was relieved to find that someone had brought a pair of her shoes along. She would have left bare-footed, but there really was something about that and dignity that didn't go hand in hand.

Before she made it to the door or even managed to slip into the shoes, it swung open, revealing the Mediwitch that had delivered the 'great news' the last time she had been there. Hermione nearly recoiled.

"Miss Granger," the witch said with her sugar-smile. "It's good to see you about. You are lucky we finished all the necessary tests already, and there is nothing to prevent you from going home. It will be much more comfortable there I'm sure."

"I want my alcohol," Hermione croaked. Oh, how desperately she wanted it, needed it even.

The answer was a pitiful look. "Now, now. You know that we can't do that. The potion we gave has cleared your system completely. You won't feel any more craving. We didn't expect the withdrawal to be so severe, but at least it's over now. We have to think of the child, Miss Granger. Come on, I'll help you put those shoes on."

Unwillingly, Hermione was manhandled back onto the bed and had to watch as the Mediwitch spelled her shoes to put themselves on her feet without her moving.

The witch opened the door for her and lead her down the hall. All Hermione wanted to do at that moment was run, but her legs were still shaky, and she had to ball her hands into fists to prevent them from shaking along.

"Come along then, Mr. Malfoy is already waiting for you." The witch presented her to a waiting room where indeed Malfoy sat in a business suit, one leg thrown over the other while reading the Daily Prophet. Ugh.

"What is he doing here?"

He looked up, eyes closed off and calculating. "There you are."

"What is he doing here?" Hermione hissed again.

The Mediwitch gave her a cherry-lipped smile. "He'll take you home."

Malfoy tipped his head to the side, then put the paper away and got up, perfectly elegant without so much as a wrinkle in his clothing. Those trousers were definitely magically pressed. "Responsibility, remember, Granger?"

He hated her, and this was his form of punishment. He finally had all control over her life. His cold eyes promised that he intended to make her suffer.

Well, Hermione supposed that he had a fair reason to be pretty pissed about the situation. Especially since he didn't even remember why or how he had knocked her up exactly. But really, why didn't he just tell them all to fuck off? Since when did men care for an illegitimate child?

"I can go home on my own."

He ignored her, shook the Mediwitch's hand instead, and then took Hermione by the elbow and practically dragged her along.

"Give me one good reason not to lock you up in a room for however long I have to endure this, and I'll gladly do that, Granger. And believe me, no one will bat an eyelid. They will all agree that it's for the best, even your precious Potter. He was not amused that you got yourself into St. Mungo's."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he already pushed her into one of the fireplaces in the entrance hall right next to the waiting area. He joined her there, not caring that it was totally uncomfortable and forced them to stand _way_ too close.

She was so distracted by the way his body pressed against hers, by the familiarity of it, that she didn't quite catch the address he called into the flames.

He caught her rather gracefully before she fell to her knees as they exited the Floo network.

"This," she felt she needed to point out, eyes wandering over the dark, elegantly furnished room with white marble floor, "is not my home."

"It is now," he grunted and moved past her, ignoring her disbelieving gape.

He ordered around a house-elf to prepare some kind of room and then turned back to her, his expression blank as ever. "Your stuff has been moved, your rent paid for the rest of the month, and then the contract will run out. Meanwhile and afterward, you'll stay here."

"The fuck I will."

Before she could so much as turn back to the fireplace to find some Floo powder however, he was upon her, grabbing her arm again.

Hermione snarled at him. Malfoy better kept his hands to himself or she'd chop them right off.

_Or_ she could let him drag her around some more, maybe to a bedroom with a nice big bed, and she could kiss him again and fuck him one last time. Hermione knew she was in a low, low place. But she was also hungry—very much so—and hunger made her insatiable when it came to other things as well...

He snapped a finger in front of her face. "Listen."

Hermione glared. She was no _dog_

"I want you to know one thing, Granger. You might think you can go around and fuck with people, _rape_ them, but now you will deal with the consequences, and I give a shit about how you feel—"

She recoiled. "Excuse me? I did _not_ rape you!"

"Oh, but I don't know, do I? For all I am aware you very much did that."

"Oh, believe me, you wanted it just as much as—" She interrupted herself.

He breathed heavily, his nails digging into her flesh even through her jumper. And it was a sick turn on. Apparently, now that her body had no longer access to alcohol, it went full sex-drive to get its endorphins. Or maybe that was just pregnancy hormones, who knew?

Suddenly, he was very calm. His hand fell from her arm. He straightened. Watching Draco Malfoy pulling himself together was as impressive as gazing at da Vinci's perpetuum mobile, an intricate masterwork that seamlessly flowed from one position to the next. It was as if every single muscle readjusted itself into blankness, every emotion coiled back into his sleek facade. Like a robot, Hermione thought.

"I don't want to see you more than necessary. If you need something, you can call Tipsy. Don't cause me any trouble, and I won't have to bother you either." His tone was neutral and cold. It was as if he could freeze her blood with words. The air probably crystallized where he breathed.

Not waiting for Hermione to respond, he left her by the fireplace. Hermione took a deep breath, then another one.

She had _not_ _raped him!_

* * *

Her search for Floo powder remained fruitless, and all doors and windows to the outside were locked. Malfoy was a right arse.

Tipsy was a lovely little house-elf however, showing her a pretty guest room. Hermione, of course, would rather sleep on the rug in front of the fireplace than accept any bed Malfoy provided for her, but her heart broke when Tipsy saw her unhappy expression and started to tear up, asking if "the pretty Miss" rather preferred a room closer to her Master's.

Hermione nearly choked at that and quickly assured the elf that the room was lovely and to 'please call her Hermione.' That might just have been the biggest compliment the elf had gotten in its miserable life—because of course it was a miserable life if it had to work for Malfoy of all people—as Tipsy turned beet red and bowed until her elfish head was buried in the carpet.

After Hermione's traitorous stomach growled loudly, Tipsy left with the promise of food, and she was left on her own devices and trapped. Not for long, that much was clear. She was a witch after all, and she still had her wand in her pocket.

* * *

After getting some food in her stomach, Hermione decided to explore. She would be calm about this and use that brain of hers to find a way out, knowing she could rely on her wit to find a solution. She found the spiralling staircase with beautiful white handrails and made her way back down. If Malfoy thought he could keep her here like a good little pet, he was mistaken.

She tiptoed towards the grand entrance door down the hall with colourful art-nouveau window panes, groaning internally when the doorknob didn't budge. She tried a few spells, but when nothing worked, she opted to search for another exit before Malfoy found her. Turning back down the hall towards the back of the house, Hermione passed a few doors, when she heard a familiar voice and stopped.

Malfoy was talking to someone in the room where they had emerged from the fireplace. The dark oak doors were slightly ajar, and Hermione peered through the gap from a safe distance.

Harry.

She wanted to run into the room and fall into Harry's arms. For once she wanted to be the damsel in distress with Harry being her knight in shining armour, saving her from the big bad dragon AKA Draco Malfoy. Wasn't it ironic?

Harry would get her out of this. _He had to!_

But something stopped her, and she stood at the door, listening.

"Is this really necessary, Malfoy?"

"It is."

"But locking all doors… You can't keep her prisoner."

"I don't know. You tell me. After all, it was you who found her with a bottle of wine on her bathroom floor like some pathetic alcoholic."

Hermione grimaced. She _was_ a pathetic alcoholic, but it wasn't a great feeling to hear someone else saying that, especially if that someone was bloody snobby Malfoy.

To her horror, Harry sighed and then just shrugged. _SHRUGGED!_ That was all he had to say to her situation? Turning on her heel, she went back to her room—no, her prison.

_They could all go fuck themselves._

Moments after she had thrown herself onto her bed—upside down with her feet at the headboard just to add an extra dose of rebellion—Tipsy popped into existence. "You has a visitor, Miss."

"Tell him to fuck off."

Tipsy gasped, and her face turned a violent shade of purple. She completely skipped red and went straight to looking like an eggplant dressed in a dishtowel. Before the house-elf could harm herself, Hermione sighed and turned over to get a better look at the elf. "You may tell Harry in your own polite terms that I have no wish to see him."

Tipsy nodded and quickly disappeared.

Hermione kicked at the pillows. She rather felt like behaving like a pubertal teenager at the moment. Hormones were a funny thing. Also, there was something satisfying about hating the whole world and everything beyond.

She grabbed one of the pillows between both her feet and pulled it upwards, taking it in her hand and squeezing it into a round form. Then she lifted her sweater and pushed the pillow beneath it, patting at it until it looked like a well-rounded belly.

So that was what she'd look like. If she were able to have a child that was. She wasn't, she wouldn't. Not _ever._ But it was still fascinating.

Her door opened, and she heard a gasp.

Letting her head lol to the side, she found Harry in the doorframe, his eyes wide.

Grinning, Hermione pulled out the pillow, and Harry swallowed, giving her a nervous laugh. "Hey, Hermione. Wow, I almost thought you were—"

"I told Tipsy to give you the message to fuck off, was she not clear enough in the way she worded my request?" she said in a sweet voice that would have made Umbridge proud.

"I…"

"Oh, you thought I couldn't possibly have said that and assumed Malfoy locked me up in his Rapunzel tower, giving me no access to the outside world, so you decided to come and save me?"

"Erm, I—"

"Well, _fuck you too_. If you don't intend to actually go through with it and get me out of this shithole, you can shove it!"

She heard chuckling behind Harry. "You heard her, Potter."

Ugh, Malfoy could roast in Hell: the Devil himself could fry him like bacon.

Harry looked utterly confused. If he wasn't such a dipstick at times, she could almost feel pity for him. He just wanted to be a good friend who made sure she was okay. Always there for her. Harry simply wasn't capable of being a shitty friend. At least until now, and so this situation was completely incomprehensible to him. It wasn't easy to be a shitty person after all. It took a great deal of practice and arrogance.

"O-okay," he said, and bit his lip. "Uhm, I'll be back?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course he would. He was a good friend after all. She shoved the pillow back under her shirt and ignored him.

She could get used to this _I-don't-give-a-crap-attitude,_ she thought it rather fit her new self. Old Hermione would have been appalled. That thought made her smile. And then it made her sad.

Harry had left, but now Malfoy was standing alone at the door. She looked at him, hoping he'd catch her unwelcoming vibes and piss off, but he seemed distracted and his complexion was rather pale. He stared at her belly, or rather at the pillow. Whatever went through his mind, he didn't seem to like it as he turned on the spot and closed the door rather forcefully.

Hermione could just tell him that he wouldn't need to worry, that she'd get rid of it before her belly actually looked like the pillow. But she didn't trust him. In fact, she trusted no one until she had solved this issue.

It was also kind of amusing to see him squirm at the idea of her bearing his child. His _firstborn_.

The cruel twist to her personality had always been there, Hermione supposed. She hadn't been above cursing Marietta Edgecombe after that snitch had ratted them out to Umbridge in fifth year. Even in her first year, Hermione had felt no remorse when Professor Snape had to see Madam Pomfrey when his self-made burn salve wasn't strong enough to heal the spot on his leg that she had set on fire during Harry's broom incident.

The bed was rather comfortable and, without being able to resist, Hermione slowly drifted into sleep. The withdrawal had taken more of her stamina than she had anticipated, and she was tired beyond yawning.

She could always escape later, Hermione thought as she rolled herself into a small ball around the pillow still tucked under her shirt.

* * *

When she woke, the sun had set and the room was dark. Hermione was wide awake and immediately got up on her feet. It was the perfect moment to escape. Malfoy was probably deep asleep, so no one would hold her back.

Pocketing her wand, she left the room and turned down the hall towards the chairs.

Twelve minutes later—and Hermione was absolutely certain of that time frame because Malfoy simply possessed too many grandfather clocks that drove her absolutely mad with their constant ticking—she was back on her floor, frustrated beyond belief. All doors had been locked, and the windows too. No amount of spellwork had opened them. That could only mean one thing: Malfoy was smart enough to keep intruders out with blood wards. And to keep her in with them as well.

Without him or his blood, she'd be unable to leave.

Hermione sighed and pushed her door open to drop back down onto her bed. He was smart, she shouldn't have been surprised. At least her voyage through the house hadn't been completely useless. She now knew that she was not in Malfoy Manor or any other equally large place. In fact, from looking out of the bay windows, she was quite certain that they were somewhere in the wealthier areas of Greater London. This clearly was some upper-class townhouse. The streets outside looked tidy and well lit, and the houses on the other side had polished letterboxes and creamy white facades with flourishes along the corners.

Also, she knew where Malfoy's study was and had discovered a drawer with cash in several different currencies. Of course it had been warded, not with blood though, and she was still Hermione Granger and curious to the boot. Interestingly, one of the currencies had been Muggle Pound, a fact she had carefully stored at the back of her mind as she had set the wards back into place.

If she ever found a way around the blood wards—no, _when_ she found a way—she'd need a little money, and Hermione really didn't feel bad about stealing from Malfoy at this point.

But the problem remained: How would she break the wards?

The only glimmer of hope had been the rather large reading room she had discovered downstairs. Maybe she could find a book there that could help her. She was the queen of research after all.

* * *

She didn't know where exactly Malfoy was spending his days, but when she woke to the heavenly smelling breakfast Tipsy brought her every morning, he was long gone. He didn't return until late. Either he had a killer job, or he was refusing to spend more time than necessary in the same house as her. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if it were a mixture of the two. She only saw him a handful of times, walking the halls late in the evening, and he looked exhausted.

That left her with plenty of time to browse the books in his reading room. She had at one point been forced to sell most of her books—or rather she had been in dire need of more alcohol and had already stashed all her money for that month away for the rent.

The books in Malfoy's reading room felt like a family that she hadn't visited in a long time. Nostalgia was a weird feeling. Hermione wasn't sure if it was a happy feeling; it kind of hurt to know that whatever she was craving was long gone, lost in the abyss of time and her moving on, or rather steadily falling apart. Gliding her fingers over the backs of the heavy tomes, rapping her knuckles against their spines, it reminded her of all she had given up on within herself.

The books would have glued the old Hermione to the spot for at least half a year, no locked doors needed, but this Hermione had a clear objective and felt she had kind of fallen out of love with books. Now they were just a friend she used to know.

* * *

Her stomach growled.

Tipsy usually brought dinner by six thirty; it was seven now. Hermione contemplated just going down to the kitchen, but last time she had been there, the poor elf had nearly torn her ears off in distress. She had begged Hermione to tell her if any of her meals had been unsatisfactory, had magicked italian pasta with a whole lobster on top and french pastries with the most intricate decorations out of seemingly thin air. Tipsy hadn't stopped to present more and more decadent dishes until Hermione had hastily left the kitchen, promising to call Tipsy next time she wished for something.

She flinched when Tipsy appeared unexpectedly with a _plop!_ The elf stumbled over her own feet in excitement, bowing deep enough to hit her long nose on the (luckily) soft floor: "Master invites Miss to have dinner with him."

Hermione had already jumped up, ready to receive another of Tipsy's wonderful meals, but sat back down onto the bed instead with disappointment. "Why?" she asked, wearily.

Tipsy straightened her back and looked up at her, at a loss for words.

"Nevermind," Hermione said, looking down at the comfortable jeans and t-shirt she wore. "Tell him, I'll have to change first."

"As you wish."

"No, wait!" Suddenly embarrassed that she cared what he thought of her at all, Hermione jumped up. "I'm ready to go now."

The elf lead her downstairs to the dining room that was looking over the back garden of the house where a big limetree gently swayed in the wind over a small pond. The sun was setting, casting its golden light onto the white marble floor to the linen-covered table where Malfoy was enthroned.

"Take a seat," he said, eyeing her simple Muggle attire just how she had anticipated he would. She refused to be intimidated. No normal person dressed for a simple dinner in their own home like they were in at _The Ritz_ instead.

Tipsy held out a chair for her opposite Malfoy at the far end of the table. Hermione was glad for the distance. Everything about Malfoy was neat, clean, controlled—he felt like a complete stranger.

She remembered that she had caught the same vibes from him the night of the fundraiser that had ended in between the sheets of some hotel room. His stiff facade had crumbled after she had gotten him a little drunk and after she had told him some made up secrets. People tended to trust you when you made yourself vulnerable, even if those vulnerabilities were lies.

A salad on a gold-rimmed plate appeared in front of her. Everything in this house was extravagant, from the indian carped on the floor, to the aztec mask beside the double doors Tipsy had lead her through, to the floral arrangement in the middle of the table with peruvian lilies, bright yellow petals, speckled with pink tips, looking like it was taken right out of a dutch still-life painting.

"Living the high life, are you?" she said bitterly, poking at her salad. No matter what crimes they did, rich people would always be rich…

Hermione remembered that Harry had been named as the main inheritor of Dumbledore's will; the version that had been found hidden behind his painting after the war. Their former headmaster's Gringotts account had been ridiculously empty. The goblins had insisted that the Order had taken up a great amount of expenses, but the truth was that his salary had been a joke. Nobody paid you for being a good person; you didn't earn money from saving the wizarding world. Not even when you were Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived-and-died-and-then-lived-again. Order of Merlin, first class, it had been for all three of them. The shiny medal wasn't even real gold, and it came with a symbolic 100 Galleons that barely paid the rent for two months.

Malfoy opted to ignore her snide comment. "Tipsy tells me you've found my library to entertain you."

"You are having her spy on me?"

He shrugged. "This house isn't that big. She knows what's going on without spying, and besides, she is happy to keep me updated."

Hermione made a sweeping gesture. "What's with all this, Malfoy? I thought you wanted to see as little as possible of me?"

He sighed. "I feel like we need to discuss the … situation."

"We don't need to do anything. You just need to let me out, and then you'll never have to deal with me again."

"Wouldn't that be convenient?" He smiled with dark sarcasm, a toothy smile like that of a hyena before eating a frightened bird.

They ate in silence for a while until he put his salad fork aside, every movement was measured and controlled. _The perfect pureblood aristocrat_. His plate vanished as did hers and the main course appeared. Roast beef with potatoes and yorkshire pudding. Her mouth watered at the heavenly smell.

Hermione had barely taken two bites when Malfoy spoke again: "I don't really care for marrying, especially you, but for the sake of the child, it is a reasonable option—"

She snorted. "This is getting ridiculous. Are you proposing to me? Draco Malfoy and the Mudblood Hermione Granger, now that would be a story for Rita Skeeter's dirt rag!"

He clenched his jaw. It was impressive how the slight movement of facial muscles could make him look scary. "I'm trying to find a solution here! I don't understand why you insist on making this difficult. Especially when this whole situation is clearly your—"

"My fault!" she shrieked, throwing her fork aside in anger. "Because it's always the woman who is to blame for her reproductive system deciding to squeeze out a fertile egg every fucking month, isn't it?"

He pulled a revolted face; his pointy nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Oh, has dear mommy never explained to little baby Draco how sex works? No birds and the bees? Well then, let me rectify that: It takes two to do the dirty and make a baby!"

"I am aware," he ground out.

"Good because for a moment I wasn't too sure!"

"Shut your damn trap, will you?" His hand hit the table so forcefully that it made the glasses rattle and Hermione jump. Tipsy who had just been refilling his wine and Hermione's apple juice—no alcohol for her after all—squealed and apparated out of the warzone.

They stared at the spot where the elf had vanished. "Well done, Draco, I see nothing much has changed since Dobby ran away from your family," Hermione said, sarcastically.

He didn't even look at her, simply dropping his napkin onto his half-eaten plate, before getting up, straightening his pristinely wrinkle-free shirt and leaving through the double doors.

* * *

Without contact with the outside world, time was becoming a weird thing. It was like she was removed from reality, only watching from the sidelines, as the world ticked by with the chime of the grandfather clocks.

The research on blood wards was tedious. Not to mention infuriatingly fruitless. Hermione had forgotten how long it took to look for information when she didn't know which book to look for. There were several mentions of blood wards in some of Malfoy's books, but they always lead to some cross reference that he didn't have in his private collection. After a week— _or maybe it was two?_ —she was pretty certain Malfoy had removed the book she was looking for in foresight.

She sighed and pushed the book she was holding back into its gap on the shelf. Her hand unconsciously went down to her belly. Immediately, she pulled it back. She could _feel_ it.

It was a small bulge, but it was clearly there. Hermione shuddered and then broke out in a cold sweat as the implications overran her mind.

Squeezing her eyes shut, and bracing herself against the shelf in front of her, she tried to control her breathing.

Time was running out… she needed a new plan. Something more _drastic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peruvian lilies are a symbol of wealth, prosperity and fortune
> 
> sill life paintings also are always reminding the spectator of evanescence and their own death


	4. The Fourth Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> It was a small bulge, but it was clearly there. Hermione shuddered and then broke out in a cold sweat as the implications overran her mind.
> 
> Squeezing her eyes shut, and bracing herself against the shelf in front of her, she tried to control her breathing.
> 
> Time was running out… she needed a new plan. Something more drastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some symbolism for the later part of this chapter:
> 
> Purple anemones represent fading hope and a feeling of having been forsaken.
> 
> Pink larkspur flowers represent fickleness.
> 
> Hydrangeas represent heartlessness and acting without thinking about the feelings of another.
> 
> Betas: Nora Fares and FantasticLavenderCrystals

There was a knock on her door which was an anomaly in the monotonous rut of her daily routine since she had been locked into this ivory tower. Hermione rolled off the bed where she had read a book, lying on top of the covers, her feet propped up high against the headboard, the book levitated to hover over her face at eye-level.

Landing on all four beside her bed, she realised how incredibly lazy she was being and quickly straightened up, patted her hair down, and canceled the _Leviosa_ charm so the book fell onto the bed with a flop.

She cracked her neck and trotted over to the door, opening it just a tiny bit to peek outside.

"May I come in?" Malfoy seemed to have great difficulty saying those words in a polite tone. Really, it was quite amusing to have him ask for entrance to a room in his own house.

"Maybe?" Hermione felt like poking the beast a little more—tickle the sleeping dragon. She hadn't forgotten how he had shouted at her and then run out on her the last time she had seen him. It had been partly her fault, but if he wanted to play the adult here and talk things through, she'd take on the part of the pouting teenager without complaint. He treated her like a naughty child after all, locking her into her room like she was on house arrest, _or worse, grounded._ Of course she was, according to The King of Infuriating Prats.

He didn't seem to be in the mood for playing games as he pushed the door in her face and squeezed through it.

"Hey! Get out, you brute!"

"Oh, do shut up, Granger."

He flounced towards the small desk opposite the bed and settled into the wooden chair that was more comfortable than it looked with its ornate backrest.

The door handle still in her hand, Hermione stood by the door, holding it open in the hopes that he'd leave again so she could bang it shut after him. But he didn't pay her much attention, as he pulled a small box from his suit pocket (seriously, he wore a suit jacket inside his own home). He tapped it with his wand, and the box enlarged to the size of a small owl on his palm.

"Potter said you like cauldron cakes."

_That traitor._

"I don't."

He looked up at her, mock surprise on his face. "Oh, if that's so, you won't mind, will you?" He opened the lid of the quite fanciful box which looked like it had been sold in an expensive patisserie.

"What do you want?" she asked, eyeing his long, elegant fingers reaching into the box and pulling out a small cauldron cake with powdered sugar coating.

"A civil conversation would be a great start."

"And what is this?" She pointed her chin towards the cake that was now dangling between his fingers, dangerously close to those slightly parted lips.

He smiled a predatory smile and took a bite, closing his eyes very briefly like an unconscious reaction to something awfully delicious rather than his typical mockery.

Her mouth watered.

"A peace offering," he said simply, drawing her attention back from his mouth to his eyes. "But seeing as you don't like them, I'm afraid it was for naught." He pretended to be disappointed and took another bite, halving the remaining quarter of the delicate cake.

She shrugged, as if it was nothing. "I could try it, maybe I like it more than I used to?" _Give me the fucking cake_ , was what she wanted to say, but Malfoy would laugh in her face and probably burn the rest of it as opposed to sharing it with her.

A light sprinkle of icing sugar had rained onto his expensive suit jacket, but he didn't seem to mind as he licked the same sugar from the corner of his mouth. Hermione's knuckles on the door handle turned white.

"Now that would be a waste of perfectly good cauldron cake. How about we turn back to that civil conservation?"

"Only if you give me my cake," she insisted. He finished the one in his hand and then… _oh…_ licked the sweet white powder from his fingers, one at a time, sucking at the tip of his index before sending her a winning smile.

"There's two left," he said with a glance into the box. "One for you and one for me."

"How about two for me and none for you?" She smirked and took a step closer.

With a sigh, her leaned further backwards. "Why? I like them, so I should eat them, _all on my own."_ He reached into the box again, and Hermione couldn't help but let out a low mewl of protest as she stepped forward.

"I'll be civil!"

"No empty promises, Granger," he chastised like she was a naughty child.

"I swear." Her teeth were clenched with the strain of holding back; she very much wanted to throw something at him. Or jump him to get her hands on that cake.

Malfoy had always had a sweet tooth judging all those packages from his mother that he had received in school. Hermione had been quite embarrassed to share the addiction to the sweet drug with the arrogant boy she hated the most. Her parents had never allowed her much sugar, dentists and their never-ending fear of tooth decay, but that didn't mean that she hadn't eaten it in secret every chance she got. She hadn't just been ashamed because she had something in common with Malfoy, she had been ashamed because she had envied him for the weekly food parcels.

He regarded her for a moment. "How about you get one now, and if I decide that you are indeed doing your best to hold a civil conversation with me, I'll let you have the second one too?"

"I'm— _not_ —a dog."

"True, true," he said, reaching into the box and took a big bite from the second cake.

"Okay!" She held out a hand as if trying to talk him out of setting off a bomb or something. "I'll just sit here," she went back and gently lowered herself onto the bed, "and you can talk. I'll listen."

Setting the box aside onto her small desk, Malfoy was suddenly all business. She noted that he didn't eat the rest of the cake he had already taken a bite from. "As I conclude from our last… conversation, marriage is not in the greater picture."

Hermione was inches from scratching his eyes out for bringing _that_ up again, but her eyes were glued to the cake package, and she restrained herself, drawing up her legs under herself instead.

"I don't care much what you do with your life after this," his stormy grey eyes glimpsed at her belly "but the child will live with me, I'll pay for tutoring and all the educational expenses. You can take care of Christmas presents, if you like, but I won't leave any of the essentials to you. I've seen the shack of a flat you lived in, no child of mine will live in that kind of poverty."

There were so many things she wanted to throw at his head then. How dare he enter her flat? How dare he call her poor? How _dare_ he demand all responsibility when it came to _her_?

She caught herself—she wouldn't think about this thing inside her. He could make plans for the future for all she cared, but she knew that there wouldn't be a future. Not for the thing growing inside her, and—if she didn't get rid of it soon—not for Hermione herself. So she shrugged, leaving him visibly thrown off at her easy compliance.

"That's all?" she asked.

He reached behind him for the box and held it out for her.

With glee, Hermione devoured the cake at the bottom, and then, with a quick glance back at Malfoy, took the one he had already eaten from too and made quick work of it. She was overly aware of him watching her.

"Why are you so interested in this anyhow?" she asked between chewing the cake and licking the sugar icing from her fingers. "I didn't think you'd react… well ... quite like that."

"You mean you didn't think I'd react mature?"

She stopped in her action, one finger still in her mouth and nodded. She was right curious.

"People grow up, Granger," he said, his eyes glued to her finger. Then he got up abruptly and left without another word.

Hermione stared down at the empty box in her lap sadly. She wished there'd be more.

/

Bringing up her courage to see her plan through took longer than Hermione wanted to admit. Several days, she hovered at her door whenever she heard Malfoy return in the evening, and every time she didn't move.

The nausea that still made every morning absolute hell had settled somewhat. Hermione knew that it gave her a false sense of ease because it wasn't a sign that she had already left the worst behind her, it was a sign that the pregnancy was coming along.

It was getting serious.

Her old shirts also got a little tight at the chest, as if her breasts wanted to tell her to finally act on her plan, they were eager, that was clear.

The hall was dark, but moonlight flooded through the large windows. Hermione followed the path to his room she had memorised on her walks through the house. There hadn't been much else to do despite reading one book after another. She went through the door at the end of the hall and past the stairs to the other side of the house.

He had literally put her in the room farthest from his.

She felt over her stomach. This couldn't wait any longer. There already was a small bulge, and it felt wrong in every single way possible. She wanted to get rid of it. The only thing keeping her from getting the thing removed were the wards.

All she needed was a drop of his blood.

Breathing deeply to get her nerves under control, Hermione pushed his door open and entered. Leaning back against the wood of the door, she took in the interior of the bedroom. Only a small corner was lit with moonlight, and her eyes needed a moment to adjust.

"Granger?"

Oh, he was awake. That meant she had to go a different route than what she had planned.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" His voice was drowsy, and he blinked the sleep from his eyes as he pushed himself up on the bed.

The view wasn't a complete downturner. Actually, Hermione felt the urge to mess his tousled hair a little more, just to see if it would stand in different directions like Harry's did or if it just got a little curly around the edges. She would bet on curly, and she bet that Malfoy absolutely hated that fact considering how much he always tried to be impeccable, all straight lines and hard edges. There simply was no room for soft and curly in Draco Malfoy.

She had to take one or two deep breaths to steel herself. This could end up very, _very_ embarrassing for her.

"I'm bored."

"You're…? Oh for fucks sake, just—"

Hermione left him no time to tell her to get lost and crawled up on the bed instead.

He stilled and stared at her warily. She didn't even have to pretend for this. She _was_ bored. _And horny._

_Fucking hormones_ ; that might just become her new mantra.

Taking his stillness as a cue that he wasn't completely averse to what she was about to do, Hermione boldy swung a leg over his and straddled his lap, bracing herself on his strong shoulders.

His right hand shot out and grabbed her waist. He would have used the other hand too, but needed to hold himself upwards with his left, as Hermione was pushing him backwards slowly.

Her nightdress had ridden up to her waist, and her bare legs were pressed against the soft linen of his blankets. Hermione could feel the muscles in his legs flex below her with tension.

"Don't you think we fucked up enough the first time?" he grunted, but didn't push her away, just held her in place.

"You might not remember, but we were rather good at this."

He sighed. "And Hermione Granger does love to excel."

That sounded as if he knew her, or at least knew a part of her that had belonged to her at some point. It warmed her heart. In a dipping-your-hands-in-dishwater-warming way. It was not completely unpleasant, but all kinds of sticky stuff came with it that Hermione wasn't quite comfortable with and wanted to rid herself off.

So she leaned forward against the hands that were still on her waist and kissed along his jaw to his neck as she pushed him down onto the mattress, running her hand over his boxers, feeling an erection pressing against the soft fabric.

He groaned again. "You're my downfall."

Hermione hummed in agreement. She could be a real bitch, and her conscience had been thrown into the gutter long ago. She did whatever was necessary to get her way. And right now, she needed to seduce Malfoy to get a bit of his blood just to escape this rather inconvenient pregnancy, and then she could finally, _finally_ , drown herself in numbness and alcohol again. Her scotch was waiting, she was craving it like a fish craved water once you pulled it out of the river.

She needed to go back to drowning or she'd suffocate on reality. It was already closing in as her still tiny belly seemed to grow with every passing day.

Pushing the covers further down, she ground her hips against him, feeling him below her. She hadn't lied. They had been rather good at this. He was one of those rare satisfying fucks that left you with a tingle on your skin and in your belly for an entire week, and with a baby in your uterus apparently.

But this time, there really wasn't anything they could make worse. Malfoy must have come to the same conclusion because he gripped her waist harder and pulled her forward to meet his lips.

Somehow, Hermione felt compelled to draw a clear line between them, to let him know where exactly they stood in this; she trailed a hand down his abdomen and tugged at his boxers. Pulling him out, she wrapped her fingers around his dick and let them glide down to the base before halting at his shuddering breath.

"Do you know how many of your Slytherin friends I did this with?" she whispered against his chest where she left a trail of small pecks and bites. She could feel his muscles stiffen under her lips, and his fingers dug into her thighs.

Stroking his dick once, Hermione watched his face for a reaction. A brief flutter of his eyelids betrayed the hard line of his mouth. She smiled and continued.

"First, I tried sweet and innocent Theo. He is so eager to please. Didn't even recognise me, the poor bloke."

Malfoy tensed further under her. Sensing that he was equally turned on by what she told him and enraged that she did it while giving him a handjob, she wriggled further down and took as much of his dick into her mouth as she could.

Using her tongue on the way upwards to trace the underside of his shaft, she sucked. One of his hands had found her hair. The tug on her scalp was delicious, and Hermione could feel her own arousal heighten the sensibility of her skin.

She stopped to look up at him.

"Zabini is a right dick in bed, you know. I mean metaphorically _and_ literally. He's huge!"

Malfoy growled like an angry werewolf with a bad moon rising. "Cut the crap, Granger."

"Don't worry," she purred, "he pissed me off enough to let that rare specimen go without shedding a tear."

She felt that he was about to push her off his bed altogether, so she quickly lowered her mouth again. Men were so easy to control. She could practically feel all his common sense shutting down.

She wasn't even a big talker during sex—not like Pansy Parkinson, and yes, Hermione had tasted from the apple tree on the other side of the fence, just once. Parkinson had told her in all the colourful words the English language had to offer how much she despised her with her muddy blood and her Muggle tongue licking her to ecstasy.

The words Hermione used for Malfoy felt like a safety net, like a wall she could build around herself to not let this get too close to her.

"Goyle is just sad. He's got all the muscles a woman could want, but he's soft to the core. He cried afterwards."

She knew she was being cruel, but she couldn't stop herself. Crawling back up without letting go of him, she positioned herself above him. Pushing her nightdress up, she lowered herself slowly until the tip of his cock pushed against her entrance. "If you ask me, he still hasn't gotten over Crabbe, those two were like Tweedledum and Tweedledee back in school." She pushed down and boldly held his eyes.

They promised fire and ice. Oh lord, he hated her in this moment.

_Good._

Suddenly, she felt herself being turned over. He didn't even pull out as he rolled on top of her. Hooking one of her legs over his shoulder, Malfoy pushed in deep, and he didn't go slow. Hermione wriggled her hips to adjust as she felt her walls being stretched further, and a hiss escaped her when he pulled out and slammed back into her, hitting the mouth of her uterus. It was borderline painful, but she guessed she deserved that.

"If you're so addicted to cock," Malfoy grunted between thrusts, "Maybe you should have married the Weaselby."

Hermione froze. He grinned down at her and didn't stop. That was when he hit _that_ spot that made her toes curl and her back arch.

Oh, she hated him, and she was pretty certain she told him exactly that as she came undone. But it really was hard to tell what exactly escaped her mouth at that moment for all that reached her brain was a static buzz and the whiplash of pent up frustration that finally found a vent for release.

Malfoy caught the cry of her orgasm with his lips pressing to hers.

Her hands found his hair, pulling him against her as she bit down hard until she tasted blood. Only then, she let herself collapse against the mattress and shuddered in the aftermath of her climax.

Malfoy must be one to get off of pain because his body tensed above hers and then sagged down as his seed spilled into her.

"Fucking bitch," he said when he was finished and wiped his bleeding lip as he collapsed onto the mattress beside her.

Hermione kept her lips tightly shut and her fists closed at her sides to prevent herself from licking or wiping the blood away. Instead, she rolled off the bed and pulled her dress back over her sex and down to the middle of her thighs.

She thought she heard him call after her, but Hermione was already out the door and walking back towards her own room, where she quickly picked up her wand and drew the tiny droplet of blood she had drawn from his lips into a small tin she found in her bathroom. Placing a stasis spell on it, she hid it behind a cabinet.

This was her ticket out. The price had been high, but not fully unpleasant. Still, she wanted to impale Malfoy on a wooden flock for bringing up Ron. Of course, Hermione knew that she deserved it after what she had said, and there was simply no way Malfoy knew that Ron breaking up with her was the reason she was as fucked up as she was. But it still hurt enough to make her forget any regrets she had about biting him.

/

The rest of the night, Hermione was restless. She tried sleeping, but couldn't even close her eyes. Instead, she stared out her window at the moon, waiting for it to fade away in the light of the rising sun.

Malfoy left early, just like every other day. Lying in bed, Hermione strained her ears to make sure he didn't return, although that was unlikely considering he never usually did so before late at night.

When Tipsy brought breakfast, Hermione got up, took a shower and got dressed. She forwent the porridge with fruits, too nervous to eat anything. The tea was scalding hot, but she forced it down to calm her nerves.

Then it was time to leave.

She stopped by Malfoy's study and took the pounds from his drawer. She would need them, and if it wasn't enough, she could always use her wand. It wasn't an option she liked to consider though, so Hermione was quite glad and surprised that Malfoy had random wads of Muggle cash lying around. Figures. Rich people just did that apparently.

Going back to her room, Hermione called Tipsy.

"Miss asked for Tipsy? You is not like the porridge?"

Hermione felt bad for lying to the house-elf. She didn't have a problem with stealing from Malfoy, but this innocent creature didn't deserve to be deceived. House-elves were like children in so many ways; they were precious beings, too kind and vulnerable for this world.

"I feel like eating something different, do you happen to have any cakes?"

Tipsy looked panicked. "Me didn't prepare anything for today, Miss. I will immediately. I will run and make them quickly."

Hermione couldn't even get a 'thank you' out before the elf disappeared with a crack. This would give her some time before Tipsy noticed her absence. Otherwise the elf would dote on her, constantly bringing new tea and asking for any more wishes.

Taking the small tin with Malfoy's blood, Hermione went downstairs, and as she had hoped, the wards didn't stop her from leaving as if Malfoy had escorted her himself.

As soon as she had stepped through the low iron gate of his front garden, she apparated to the abortion clinic.

/

At the clinic, a few spells were needed to make sure the doctor didn't ask any questions about her not appearing at her previous appointment. And then it took some more to convince them that she was one of the other patients so they would go through with the procedure without more appointments and testing.

Time wasn't on Hermione's side, she knew that. Once Tipsy discovered her absence, she would alert Malfoy, and he would in turn alert St. Mungo's. Whatever incentive he had to go along with their stupid notions of keeping that thing in her belly rather than removing it, he hadn't seemed to be willing or able to go against them.

"Please just sign this, Miss Whitcomb, and we can start the procedure." Whitcomb was the name of the patient Hermione was posing as. She mentally apologised to the woman for stealing her identity, but she felt more guilty about confounding all the nurses and Doctor Restell. Muggles were so… _vulnerable_ when it came to magic. So clueless.

Hermione signed with an unreadable flourish and was lead to the operating room where she could undress, put on the hospital shift and then lay back on the operation table.

She tried to breathe evenly to keep her nerves in check. She was way beyond medicinal abortion, and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep down the pills anyhow thanks to whatever the Mediwitch had done to her without her consent.

The surgical abortion was more expensive, but with Malfoy's money, Hermione treated herself to a general anesthesia instead of just a local one.

They put a needle in her arm and then something over her mouth. Hermione was asked to count back from ten, and before reaching number six, she was gone.

/

Hermione woke with a tingling feeling in her mouth. Slowly drift back to consciousness, she decided to keep her eyes shut.

She had done it. It was over.

Maybe she would go to Malfoy one last time. Let him know that he was finally rid of her. He kind of deserved that little bit of truth.

Maybe she should apologise? She wasn't sure he deserved that. She'd see how he would react. If he just was his usual aloof self, she wouldn't waste her breath, but if he was decent for long enough, she might just admit that she shouldn't have fucked him, and then obliviated him, and gotten pregnant on top of that.

He would probably be relieved upon hearing the news.

If she told him, maybe he could let go of all this… _tension._ She tried to picture his face relaxing into something almost friendly, and it gave her the strange urge to smile. If he weren't always scowling and sneering, he had a face that one could smile at quite easily. A pretty face, but not overwhelmingly so, still somewhat… relatable. Not like an otherworldly thing of ethereal beauty. He probably thought of himself like that though. He was one of those spoiled pricks that believed when his mummy had told him that he was the most exceptional child in the universe.

So she would spoil him some more, bring him the good news, and then leave him to continue his merry life.

After that she would go to Harry. Hermione was still mad at him for abandoning her, but she would need some help to get away. She wasn't naive. There probably were some legal troubles with her going against whatever laws the Ministry had made to outlaw abortion. She should take a long holiday, somewhere in France maybe? She had always liked France.

Her feet gained some feeling, enabling her to wriggle her toes, and Hermione did so with delight. She was gaining back control over her body.

Everything would go back to how it should be now. Maybe she'd even go to therapy once she settled in France. It was time to get her life back on track. The whole pregnancy thing had certainly shaken her and opened her eyes to the drastic changes she would need to make.

Life couldn't go on like this. Hermione felt ready to move on. She was her own master, and everything was possible if she wanted. After all, she was Hermione Granger; she was determined, she was resourceful. She could do this.

Curling her toes and flexing her feet, Hermione felt her body more clearly now. And with feeling returned something else. The sense of foreboding.

She could wriggle her toes and drum her fingers against the mattress below her, but she couldn't move her legs, couldn't lift her arms. Something was holding her down, something that felt like straps.

She tore open her still tired eyes, looking down at herself. Her arms and legs were literally strapped to the cot she was lying on, like she was some mental asylum patient.

"Miss Granger, please relax and lay back. Everything is alright."

Hermione stared wide-eyed at the nurse, the very familiar nurse that had examined her at her first visit to St. Mungo's.

Unbelieving, she pulled at the straps at her arms and legs. It was no use, they were fixed with magic. But her brain wasn't able to fully process that fact at the moment, her instincts kicked in, going into overdrive as she thrashed from side to side.

"Miss Granger, calm down!" The nurse sounded panicked, and that only fed the distress growing inside Hermione. What did they do to her? Why was she here? She needed to get away. Get away, get away, get a—

" _Stupefy_."

/

It must have been several hours later when Hermione woke up again, reeling with shock that the nurse had actually stupefied her. _Stupefy_ was one of those spells that had been distinctive for the light side in the battle of Hogwarts. It was relatively harmless compared to the Unforgivables and other gruesome hexes the Death Eaters had thrown left and right, not caring for the toll it would sooner rather than later take on their own bodies and minds. Dark magic was destructive, Hermione had first-hand experience on that. Her abdomen still ached where she had been hit so long ago.

In comparison to that, _Stupefy_ was just a light breeze. But in different contexts, outside of the war, _Stupefy_ was considered grievous bodily harm. It left you with an ache all over as if you had run a marathon without training for it for more than a day. It also left you vulnerable, defenseless.

She slowly opened her eyes.

Turning her head left and right, Hermione took in her surroundings. She was still strapped to the bed, so she craned her neck. This was clearly St. Mungo's and not the Muggle clinic. The walls were tiled and ceilings high with arches and brick wall intersections. It would have a rustic chic if it didn't remind her so strongly of ancient mental asylums, like the ruin she had once visited with her parents in France.

Her room was large for a hospital room, probably built to hold more than one patient, but all other beds had been removed.

There were flowers on her bedside table. They looked a bit wilted, but somehow left her feeling like someone had wanted her to know that they cared. That they had visited.

It gave Hermione the creeps knowing that someone had seen her like this, constrained and unconscious.

She wondered what she should do. She couldn't really move. There was no way to call someone either. What would happen if she accidentally choked on her own spit? Would they be alerted by some monitor spells? Or would they later find her, pathetically distorted facial expression, suffocated on her own bodily fluids?

Malfoy would do a belly dance in celebration, or invite Moaning Myrtle to do the tango.

Hermione sighed. She tried to find out how she felt, mainly annoyed, angry, furious even. But what seeped through all those feelings was the question if she was still pregnant. Had the doctor managed to remove that thing before they had taken her to St. Mungo's?

Time passed, so much so that she imagined hearing the ticking of grandfather clocks like the ones in Malfoy's townhouse. Waiting for anything to happen, she felt her emotions simmering down to their very essence until they were stripped from all energy and crumbled to dust.

Her mind still circled around the question of whether she still had to worry about being pregnant, but it was impossible to tell. She certainly didn't feel any different. Still, she tried to figure it out because most of all, Hermione was bored. When would someone come? If she actually was still pregnant, would they just leave her here until her belly was nice and round?

That thought was horrifying. She would be left to her own devices, no one would want to waste time on her after her repeated attempts to get rid of the thing inside her. Maybe this was punishment for defying their orders?

She had read about the torture method of leaving people locked up and alone until they completely broke.

The room suddenly seemed very vast. The ceilings were mocking her from high up above, so high that they surely must touch the sky, that there might be clouds forming. She felt tiny, so tiny in this endless room with too large doors and opaque windows.

Hermione recognised the panic attack when it was about to overcome her. The tricky thing about panic attacks was that they didn't disguise what they were. She _knew_ it was all in your head that her rising fear was completely irrational, that she could gain back control of her breathing if she just… could. The worst thing about panic attacks was this awareness and the complete powerlessness of fighting it off. Locked in a body that wouldn't obey her, in a mind that spiraled itself into confusion and chaos, she could do nothing but wait, feeling every painful moment as if a second was stretched into years and as if a century passed between every heartbeat.

She was dimly aware of someone standing over her, patting her hand and forcing something down her throat with a spell that moved it past the cramping muscles that didn't allow her to swallow on her own devices.

The panic didn't disappear, instead, her consciousness was shoved behind a veil so she felt even more helpless as her body relaxed. On the inside, her mind was still raving and pushing at the walls of her brain to get outside, to make itself known.

"You will be alright, Miss Granger. I just gave you something to relax your body so the baby won't be affected."

The baby? The baby could fuck off and leave her to suffer in peace!

This was the cruelest thing they had done to her to this point. They didn't give a flying dungbomb about her well-being, it was all the baby. Hermione could be brain dead in a coma, and they would still keep her alive until the fucking baby made its appearance! Nobody apparently was concerned about her own well-being in this. Hermione's outrage slashed through the panic without her really realising, but her body was still unmoving, her breathing calm, her heartbeat regular. She wasn't only bound to the bed, she was now also unable to move, to react. Her mind was isolated, a prisoner in her own deadweight of a body.

She wanted to scream and thrash. She wanted to bash the nurse's head in and dance on her cadaver as she pulled out the organs. But she remained unmoving, her face relaxed with her eyes staring up at the ceiling in a serene blankness.

The nurse patted her hand once again and left.

She was alone again. At this point, it was clear that no one would come for her, no one would help her. The flowers on her bedside were a sad testament that even her friends weren't going to consider her wishes over the well-being of some slimy ball of cells inside her belly.

Apparently, her mind had still enough control over her body that she could cry. No sound was coming forward, and her lips didn't even tremble, but the tears flowed out of the corners of her eyes as the ceiling above her became blurry through the filter of her tears.

/

When the sun coated the room in buttery colours, making the tiles look even more yellowed and aged, her fingers slowly felt less heavy and she could gradually move her body parts again. But it availed to nothing as long as she was still strapped to the bed.

The door opened and the Mediwitch that had examined her on the first day came in.

"Miss Granger, how do you feel?"

Hermione glared at her. She wanted answers. "What am I doing here?"

"Our spells were set off when that doctor gave you the injection. Luckily, we were able to arrive in time and obliviate all Muggles in the clinic. Your child has been done no harm, don't worry."

No. No, no, no, no, _no_. "How'd you know I was there? How'd you know?"

"We put preventive spells on your uterus the day you came in first. It's standard procedure, Hermione. May I call you that?" Hermine wanted to say no, but the Mediwitch didn't wait for an answer. "You shouldn't do this to yourself, dear. It will be bad luck if you are not looking forward to this child."

"Of course I'm not looking forward to it! It will kill me!"

"We don't know that, Hermione. We don't know that."

"BUT I KNOW!"

The Mediwitch just shook her head and finished her examination spells before leaving again.

"You have a visitor," she said as she reached the door. Stepping aside, she made room for someone to step in.

"Hermione."

Her throat constricted.

"Harry." She hadn't been left alone after all. Of course Harry would come for her, he had always been there for her.

"How are you?" He leaned over her and pecked her on the forehead.

How could he be so calm? _Why_ _was he so calm?_

"Help me, Harry." She strained her arms, tearing at the straps holding them down. Why didn't he take them off already?

"I can't." Harry looked at her like a tortured kitten. "I don't like this, believe me, but I can't do anything."

"You are bloody Harry Potter, of course you can! You rode on Thestrals to London with us to save Sirius. You stood up to fucking Voldemort!"

He flinched. Sirius was a low blow, but his reluctance was making her so fucking angry.

"You don't understand, Hermione. They have medical power of attorney over you since you practically broke the law. They consider you as a danger to the child, and if I help you, if I—I can go to trial if I take you out of here, I can't—I can't do that to Ginny and Jamie."

Of course. It was always Ginny and Jamie nowadays for Harry. Hermione knew she was being unfair, that of course his son and wife came first, but she didn't have that, she didn't have anybody to look out for her, so she depended on Harry. She _needed_ him.

Turning her head the other direction, she refused to look at him, forcing herself to remain stoic, to keep her tears and self-pity to herself. She was on her own now. Nobody gave a fuck what they did to her. They would let her slowly waste away until the thing inside her killed her.

"I'll come back as soon as I can, I promise," Harry said, helplessly. He slowly crept from the room as if any loud noise would unleash her wrath on him or break whatever resolution he had come to.

The door closed, and Hermione was alone again.

She needed to pee.

/

It was degrading. They made her use a bloody bedpan. She wasn't even allowed to get up to use the toilet. She was very much capable of walking, Hermione told them again and again, but in the end, there was nothing she could do but accept this humiliating treatment.

It must have been early evening when Malfoy decided to visit her. It was pure mockery. He just wanted to see her down and still keep kicking until she was properly broken.

He nodded to the nurse as she left them to their own devices. A bundle of flowers was in his hands. They were a deep shade of purple and somehow looked more like a funeral arrangement than something one would bring to a hospital. Although, he probably preferred her dead than pregnant, so it was somewhat fitting.

He replaced the old flowers. Hermione wanted to keep them, if only to have something pretty to look at, but he had vanished them before she could tell him to leave them.

Feeling exposed in her thin hospital dress, she wished she could pull the covers higher up her body. But of course, she was denied even the last bit of dignity.

She wanted him to leave, but he made himself comfortable in the grey armchair they had pushed next to her bed.

"It's rather expensive to keep you here all on your own. You can't imagine the bills I have to pay since you managed to get yourself pregnant."

"Well then, why don't you fuck off Malfoy, I don't need your charity."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you'd rather spend all day locked up with other nutcases that bang their heads into walls or won't shut up about doing interviews and autograph sessions?"

"I don't fucking care."

"Well, Potter does, and he couldn't afford to keep you in this room for even two days. Lucky for him, I can. And I must admit I quite liked having Potter grovel to get the money."

Hermione pressed her lips together. So Harry thought he could buy her friendship with a nice hospital room all to herself? He was basically financing this institution that treated her like a bloody animal. She decided then that she would never talk to Harry again. She could easily go without friends like that.

It unnerved her that, apparently, it hadn't been Harry who had thought of bringing flowers, but Malfoy. Well, Harry had never been one to remember those kinds of things. Ginny had bought her own wedding day flowers and till date all of her birthday presents to prevent any disasters. Once, Harry had bought the special edition of 101 Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes for her, and something had gone off inside the box while Ginny had unwrapped it. She had told Harry in no uncertain terms that any future gifts would be selected by her personally while sporting blue hair and desperately trying to rearrange her nose on her face that had started melting like a toffee in summer and hung down to her navel.

Also, in contrast to most men Hermione knew, Malfoy was exceptionally well-mannered. He had probably been taught by some private etiquette tutor his parents had paid. She wouldn't put it past them. He simply couldn't help but be a gentleman. Only to disguise the part of himself that was utterly despicable, of course.

She sighed. "Why are you here, Malfoy? Come to gloat?"

"Why, I'm visiting the mother of my future child."

"Cut the crap."

"You really have a dirty mouth, Granger. I don't remember you using such foul language at school." He grinned.

Refusing to answer that, she just glared at him.

"I must admit I was quite impressed by how you tricked me in this elaborate plan of yours to get to the Muggle clinic."

She felt her cheeks boil red, but Malfoy seemed as self-composed, as if he was discussing the weather and not their angry and rather violent sex.

"If you had just told me what you wanted to do, I would have been able to inform you that it was no use with all the monitoring spells they put on you." He shrugged. "But I guess you wouldn't have believed me anyway. It did give me some trouble with the authorities, however, so I wasn't amused in the least." His lips thinned, and he leveled his eyes at her.

Hermione sneered, what did she care?

"Yet I find myself agreeing with Potter," _that_ must have cost him a lot of ego to say out loud, "that you have never been one to let things go easily, and so it's understandable that you try everything to get out of this… uncomfortable situation."

The way he talked made Hermione feel like a childish teenager. He was so damn mature it wasn't normal. Malfoy had probably forgotten what it meant to be angry or sad or confused or any basic human emotion. He had grown up, but he had also grown cold and indifferent.

"I don't want your pity."

Ignoring her, he switched the topic. "I talked to the Medwitch just now."

Hermione wanted to sit up, but of course she couldn't. She was hungry for information, even if it came from the evil witch that kept her here as a prisoner. "What did she tell you?

He shrugged. "A rundown of your medical condition, treatment plans, costs, etcetera."

If Hermione had been able to spit fire, she probably would have. How dare they tell Malfoy all about her body when they didn't even waste the breath to tell her herself. "So you are now in charge of my well-being, are you?"

"I think they care more about the baby at this point."

"You don't say."

He eyed her wrists. "I suppose it's not very comfortable here." Hermione rattled at the straps as if saying 'duh'. Malfoy smiled thinly. "Convince them that you are no threat to yourself or the baby, and they might just let you go."

A dry laugh escaped her. So she should play nice? Merlin would chop off his own testicles before that happened. "Get lost, Malfoy."

He nodded and got up. It surprised her that he actually left, that he listened to anything she told him.

And suddenly, Hermione wasn't quite sure she wanted him to leave. He wasn't exactly a friendly face among the nurses and Mediwitches and -wizards, but he was in the same boat as her, kind of. He was someone she knew, and with him, she knew where she stood. He was simply the lesser enemy among the hospital staff. As long as he was here, they would leave her alone. It was as if his presence warded off her demons in a way because outside this room, the hospital staff lingered like Boggarts, waiting for her to be vulnerable and alone to inflict their terrors.

"Miss Granger, time to wash you a little," the cheery nurse said when Malfoy allowed her back in.

"Malfoy!" Hermione called, but he was already gone.

"In case you don't remember me from your first visit, I'm Melinda, and I'll be here for you whenever you need anything."

"Fine, I need you to open these straps and let me go. Right now."

"I'm afraid we can't do that." Melinda tilted her head and smiled as if Hermione was a petulant child she needed to calm down. "You will feel better after we got you fresh and clean. I will help you with that."

"I can wash myself," Hermione said between clenched teeth.

"You don't have to be ashamed, Miss Granger. I do this every day."

Hermione _was_ ashamed, deeply so. It was psychological cruelty to have a perfectly healthy woman immobilised and not even allowed to wash herself. She felt infantilised and utterly powerless.

/

Her body started to ache from lying on her back all day, she tried to turn at least a little bit, but the straps were tight, and it was impossible to find a comfortable position. Hermione started to beg Melinda to be allowed to get up, to walk a little, to wash herself, feed herself.

But she simply gave her another potion that would "help with the soreness" of lying on her back.

It did help, but now Hermione felt like her body had accepted her situation. Maybe Malfoy had been right, maybe she should just… accept how things were and play nice. It certainly would make life easier.

But at the same time, Hermione knew how pretending something could after a while make it feel… more real. It could grind down one's mind into this obedient little pavlovian dog, reacting on the reflex of getting a treat.

The flowers had long wilted beside her, but she had asked the nurse to leave them. It was the only measurement of time Hermione had left.

No one told her anything really. For all she knew, the world outside could be in flames, and she wouldn't even smell the smoke in here. The room seemed to be hermetically warded. Nothing changed despite the light of the sun shining through the windows and the nurses coming and going. Feeding her, washing her, examining her.

Harry came several times, but Hermione pretended to be asleep, refusing to talk to him or even look at him. He had abandoned her, now he could just as well do it properly and stay away from her.

As the last petal of the purple anemones on her nightstand fell—Hermione had had to listen to Melinda and how much she adored the flowers for nearly twenty minutes while enduring her forced washing—Malfoy returned.

This time, he brought hot pink larkspurs pouring out of an arrangement with heavy-petaled hydrangeas. They seemed unnaturally cheery and ostentatious in the bleak room, but Hermione couldn't tear her eyes from them.

After vanishing the old flowers and arranging the new ones on the bedside table, Malfoy settled into the armchair next to her bed. He looked at her thoughtfully for some time, and Hermione felt minorly uncomfortable. Why did he visit her at all?

"Any news on my medical condition?" she asked bitterly. They didn't tell her anything after all.

"In fact… they asked me about the scar on your abdomen. I told them I didn't know, I don't even remember seeing it, even though you didn't obliviate me last time."

"Had to make sure you knew it wasn't rape, didn't I?" she said through clenched teeth.

He shrugged, ignoring her comment. "How come I didn't notice?"

"Because I glamoured it."

"I would have noticed a Glamour."

"In fact, I'm rather good at them. Also there wasn't a lot of undressing involved as far as I can recall." She hadn't taken off her nightdress, it hadn't been necessary to distract him any more after all, though she wouldn't have hesitated to do it to get a drop of his blood.

It was a little weird talking about their sex with Malfoy. He seemed completely unmoved by the topic while Hermione felt a blush creeping up her neck.

"So what's with that scar? They seemed a little concerned."

"Oh really?" Her voice sounded shrill in the large room. He waited for an answer, but this was none of his business. It was the only thing about her body that Hermione still held some kind of ownership over; it was the only thing she could grasp onto to keep to herself while the healers had screened any other part of her thoroughly. "Why don't you just ask our dear Mediwitch to tell you all the details? She didn't keep any of my private information secret before, did she?"

"She isn't quite sure what it is."

"Well, then you can all just try and solve this big puzzle. Go and figure Hermione Granger out, maybe you can pacify her when you know all her secrets!"

"Calm down, it was a simple question."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down! I'm locked in a fucking hospital, bound like a criminal, and not even allowed to feed myself, much less go to the toilet or take a fucking shower! I can be as fucking agitated as I want to be!"

The nurse poked her head through the door. "Is everything alright, Mr Malfoy?"

"Yes, Melinda, everything is just absolutely fucking splendid," Hermione raged. In her fury, she had started crying, and she absolutely hated that fact. Unable to wipe away her tears, she glared at the nurse with all her might.

"You can leave us alone," Malfoy said in a calm voice, and as if he had imperioused Melinda, she left without further ado.

"If you are just here to spy on me, you can go and shove those bloody flowers up your arse, Malfoy."

He didn't reply, but pulled out a handkerchief, which of course had his initials embroidered on the corner. For a second, he seemed a little helpless, but then he got over whatever inhibitions he had and patted at her cheeks.

Hermione tried pulling away, but he captured her chin in his hand. "Hold still or I'll poke your eye out."

Clenching her jaw, Hermione tried to keep her lower lip from trembling, but only more tears welled up.

Malfoy sighed. "It will be easier if you just stop fighting."

Hermione agreed, she could just lie back and wait for her end. It would come, whether she fought this or not. But that thought only reminded her of how incredibly helpless she was. She just wanted to go home, curl up in her bed—her own, not in Malfoy's guest room. She'd switch on the telly while eating a bag of crisps and laughing at cringe-worthy love declarations in the soapies. Then she'd cry a bit when imagining those love declarations in her own life, knowing she'd never be at the receiving end of those, knowing that she wasn't good enough for the person she wanted to hear them from.


	5. The Fifth Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guest reviewer gave me some important information about the details of medical abortion: The first pill you take stops any progesterone development. You take the second set of four pills called Misoprostol 24 hrs later. Since Hermione did swallow the first pill, her body would naturally miscarry even if she didn't take the second set of pills.
> 
> I did some research for this story, but i didn't go too far into the details as I'm lazy haha. For this story, just assume that whatever spells they put on Hermione prevented any kind of Muggle drug to work on her. Still, I don't want to paint the wrong picture, so I am grateful for this comment!
> 
> I also want to share some of my inspirations for this story. It is heavily influenced by camnz' 'Wrong Life' from FFN.
> 
> The abortion topic is something I have been interested in for some time, and when I started writing, there were some legislations in the US changing I think that inspired me to tell a story about it. I can recommend John Oliver's video on YouTube 'Abortion Laws: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO)'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> Malfoy sighed. "It will be easier if you just stop fighting."
> 
> Hermione agreed, she could just lie back and wait for her end. It would come, whether she fought this or not. She just wanted to go home, curl up in her bed—her own, not in Malfoy's guest room. She'd switch on the telly while eating a bag of crisps and laughing at cringe-worthy love declarations in the soapies. Then she'd cry a bit when imagining those love declarations in her own life, knowing she'd never be at the receiving end of those, knowing that she wasn't good enough for the person she wanted to hear them from.
> 
> WARNING: Graphic mentions of self harm! (the last sentence, I'll mark it with a * so you can skip it.)

It took her a week to convince the St. Mungo's staff that she was remorseful and back in control of her 'womanly hysteria' as the Mediwitch had worded it. Melinda, sweet, innocent Melinda who drove Hermione mad with her never-ending chattering and pearly smiles, was the first who believed Hermione to be ready to be released. A 'Good morning' worked wonders, and Hermione had started memorizing the names of all her nephews and nieces until she had realised that Melinda badly wanted kids of her own. After an inquiry, she relayed to Hermione that she had stopped trying to have children of her own after several miscarriages. It made Hermione sad, and she had a strange sense of affinity for the nurse's situation.

There had been a time when she had _yearned_ for children. She had used to stare at Ginny's pregnant belly until the redhead had laughed at her antics. Ginny didn't know of course, that's why she had told her to finally get married to Ron, and get her own belly to stare at. Then Ginny had pulled a face, probably when her brain had caught up with what she had said, and the details that were involved in her brother and Hermione… well, no sister really wanted to think about things like that in too much detail.

Ron had known though, and looking back now, Hermione was aware that everything had already fallen apart back then. Because she had not been the only one that had been staring at Ginny's belly with yearning.

It had been the beginning of their end.

Hermione didn't want to admit it, but a petty part of her made Ginny responsible for her fallout with Ron. Ginny and her perfectly fertile body and the baby growing inside. Oh, how she had hated that baby.

When little Jamie had first opened his eyes to the world however, Hermione had fallen in love so hard; it physically hurt to still be mad at him for existing.

She wanted to see Jamie again so badly. He was such a little sunshine, but of course Harry didn't bring him to see 'Auntie Hermy' tied to a bed like a lunatic, and Hermione still wasn't talking to Harry, so she couldn't even inquire about her sweet little godson.

The Mediwitch entered her room, carrying a clipboard and a quill. "We have some good news, Hermione."

Biting her tongue was the only thing keeping her from telling the witch in no uncertain words to use her last name. She needed to play nice. She needed to get out of here.

"I have your release papers here."

Hermione sucked in a breath. _This was it!_

"You will still be required to come in for regular examinations and consultations." She signed the papers on her board with a flourish. "I believe Mr Malfoy will be here soon to pick you up."

Hermione wanted to interrupt and tell her that she could go on her own, but she was shut up with a stern glance. "We will hand over the responsibility for you to Mr Malfoy. You are not to be left alone. We can never know if the pregnancy will make you emotionally unstable again."

"Of course," Hermione pressed out. So now it was just from one prison to the next.

Melinda came a little later to open the straps. Her arms were heavy after being useless for so long. Her muscles trembled, her mind freaked out when she simply sat up, begging her to lie down again, press back into the safe mattress and demand they fasten the straps again as if she was in a state of weightlessness and would drift away if not bound to the bed.

Hermione cried a little, when it was _so hard_ to remain upright, to swing her legs over the side of the bed and feel the cold tiles under her naked feet. Melinda opted to ignore her emotional outbreak.

Standing up was difficult at first; it had been nearly two weeks since she had last used her legs. Only after swallowing a strengthening potion, her muscles were reminded how to work properly. If it hadn't been for the number of potions they had fed Hermione every day, her muscles would have receded, instead, there were just a little rusty and stiff.

"I'll be back with Mr Malfoy, as soon as he's here to pick you up, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded, still staring down at her feet, toes curling up and down as if trying to merge with the ground below. The weight of her body on the smooth tiles felt just right and suddenly, she wanted to run. Grass would feel wonderful under her feet, she wanted to bury her toes in dirt and tiptoe over sharp rocks, sink them into the icy cold of a river.

Forcing herself to turn her attention to her clothes that Melinda had laid out for her, Hermione pulled off the hospital dress and quickly donned her own jeans and sweater. It was nice being fully dressed again.

There was a sharp rap at the door, and then Malfoy entered.

"Are you ready?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "You can just leave the door open and go back home. I'm capable of taking care of myself from here."

"I doubt that. You'd just keep trying the Muggle method."

Of course she would.

"Come on, I don't have all day." He looked grouchy, and Hermione was tempted to taunt him until he lost his cool.

Malfoy made her want to test the waters a little too boldly. But she refrained. It was peculiar as she found herself enjoying teasing him. She didn't want to associate any part of Malfoy with enjoyment. Besides the obvious, of course. The sex so far had been more than enjoyable. She sighed. Of course it had to be Draco-bloody-Malfoy who got her off just right when so many others had only done a half-arsed job or had simply been unsatisfactory in other ways.

He led her back to the fireplaces in the entrance hall and then took her arm before she had an opportunity to make a run for it, flooing them back to his townhouse.

Hermione wanted to shake his hand off, but his grip tightened. "I don't think so."

Practically dragging her up the stairs—because obviously Hermione didn't like being manhandled and tried pulling free with every step—he pushed her into her room.

"Wait!" she said, just as Malfoy was about to shut the door. "You're going to lock me in?"

His expression was blank as ever, but his eyes were those of the devil. "I warned you before. Why would I trust you again? We don't want anything to happen to the child, do we?"

Then he was gone, the door locked with wards no spell from her wand could break.

Her jeans felt uncomfortably tight around her middle.

She was back to where she had started. Only now the thing inside her was significantly larger. She hadn't really noticed before because lying in a bed with her hands and feet bound in a way that made even scratching an itch impossible, hadn't really allowed for self-examination.

After just the short trip from the hospital, Hermione felt breathless and her ankles ached. She knew that this could just as well be because she hadn't used her body properly for some time, as it could be a symptom of the pregnancy. Both unnerved her.

Tipsy suddenly appeared, and the most heavenly smell filled her nose.

"Here is your dinner, Miss. I makes steak, with fresh mushroom sauce and spinach. It very healthy for the young master growing in your belly."

Hermione pulled a face. "Don't call it that, Tipsy." She didn't give a crap about what was healthy and what not, she hadn't eaten something so delicious in ages. Hospital food all tasted the same. A bit like pureed chicken with peas that had completely skipped seasoning. The only thing missing now was…

"Can I get some blueberries and sauerkraut with this?"

Tipsy stared at her with huge eyes and then slowly nodded. "Of course, Miss. Anything you is wanting."

* * *

The next day, Hermione had just received her lunch, when she decided it was time to devise another plan. The problem wouldn't sort out itself. "Tipsy, I'm incredibly bored. Can I get some books?"

"Yes, Miss. You can write a list what you wants, and I go ask Master Malfoy if you is allowed them."

Hermione scoffed. "He surely doesn't have time to bother with my leisure reading. It will be fine if you just bring me whatever you have in the reading room downstairs."

Tipsy flapped her ears. "I better ask. I better ask." And then she disappeared.

Hermione sighed. This wouldn't be easy, she'd have to be clever. Sitting down at the small desk she had, she made a list of topics and books she wanted. The night before, she had tried summoning them, but of course, Malfoy had anti-theft spells on all his property like any other wizard would.

She couldn't just ask for books that made her plans obvious. She'd have to ask for more general collective volumes and hope that she'd find something in there in a side note that might help. Because as soon as she would ask for clearly medical literature or anything on performing abortion spells, Malfoy would cut her off all books completely. And probably take her back to St. Mungo's. He seemed to have a serious incentive to keep her pregnant.

* * *

Hermione managed to get some books, but they were so general, there barely was anything helpful in them.

"Can I just have a look at the collection you have here?" she asked Tipsy after browsing the books Malfoy had sent up to her. "I haven't quite found anything that interests me, I need to see what's available to find something I like."

Tipsy shook her head forcefully. "Miss is not allowed outside her room. Master ordered not to let her talk Tipsy into anything like that."

Hermione huffed. Of _course._

"Today I bring pasta salad with mushrooms, some good peppers and mozzarella for dinner," the elf announced, waiting for the excitement Hermione had displayed the other days about the delicious food Tipsy prepared for her.

"I'm not hungry."

With a nervous hand, Tipsy grasped at the neck of her dish-towel-dress. "You has to eat. The baby needs to be healthy!"

Hermione threw herself on the bed. Maybe she could starve the thing inside her to death. It was rather cruel and certainly not something she was certain she could sit through. Also, St. Mungo's would probably take her back and force-feed her. Hermione shuddered, somehow that thought made her want to eat even less.

At some point, Tipsy brought the meal she had promised, but Hermione was tired and pulled the covers over her head, ignoring the pleas of the elf to eat something.

* * *

Hermione didn't want to get up.

A few days ago, she would have done anything to be able to leave her hospital bed, but now her body was heavy like a dead weight, and everything felt senseless in a way. She would never manage to get through this. She wouldn't get rid of the parasite slowly eating away at her from the inside.

"Granger, get up."

Slowly, Hermione turned towards the door.

"Go away, Malfoy." Her voice was small, and she would have been embarrassed by how pathetic she sounded, but why should she care? She had reached the very bottom. There wasn't much deeper she could fall.

"Merlin's beard, woman! I won't be your babysitter."

She closed her eyes and curled her body under the covers.

"If you won't eat, I'll send you back to St. Mungo's. Believe me, you won't like what they will do to keep your body healthy."

"I know," she said, her voice muffled by the heavy blankets. What did he care? She couldn't even find it in herself to care any longer.

He was quiet for a moment, and Hermione assumed that he had left her again. He wouldn't waste his precious time on her, why would anyone bother? She wasn't worth it anyhow.

The bed dipped close to her, and Malfoy pulled the blankets from her face and then pulled the arm she had thrown over her eyes away.

She looked at him, waiting for whatever he wanted to say, shout, throw at her head. Maybe now, the accusations would come. They were long overdue. This mess was her fault after all, wasn't it?

He was staring at her boobs, Hermione realised. Lying on the side like this made them press together and the neck of her night dress didn't leave much of her pregnancy-swollen breasts for imagination. Nice cleavage had been the best way to catch a male's attention since apes began to walk on two legs.

She found she didn't quite care. He had seen her naked before, even if he couldn't remember, and she had enjoyed his attention to her boobs then.

He sighed, tearing his eyes away. Hermione could swear that a blush was rising to his pale cheeks, but the curtains were still drawn and light was dim in the room.

"What do you want, Granger? Do you want to go outside?"

She shook her head. Walking seemed like too much right now. Too exhausting. It was weird because she was very aware that fresh air would work wonders, could give her back some hope and maybe even joy. But the mere thought was overwhelming. So many feelings and emotions and wishes and all that she had ever yearned for; she would never get what she wanted. Trying would just mean she had to fail all over again to realise that some things simply weren't meant for her. Like having a family with Ron.

"What about Diagon Alley? Some shopping? Maybe books?"

"My pants don't fit any longer."

Malfoy sighed, looking down at her. "I can Floo Potter to visit you."

"I don't talk to him right now."

"Of course." His voice was filled with dry irony. But he didn't quite give up yet. "Do you want to see the library?"

Hermione hesitated and then, very slowly, nodded. Books were friends. They didn't let her down. They didn't demand anything from her; they never believed her to not be enough. Books only gave, they never took.

"Good. But first, you'll eat your breakfast." He got up. "I'll have Tipsy get you some new clothes. You have half an hour to eat and get dressed. I'll fetch you then."

Hermione pulled her tray from the nightstand onto the mattress beside her, not caring if something spilled. Tipsy would clean it up.

She blushed with mortification, feeling bad for being so careless and arrogant and took the tray to her desk instead. The scones were delicious but hard to swallow on an empty stomach, so she poured some of the tea and ate the sandwich first.

Malfoy had gotten soft, she decided. She had expected him to rage, to force her to eat, but he wasn't the boy she had known in school anymore. That much was clear.

Oh, there was still that cruel streak that all Malfoys seemed to possess, but it was muted by his maturity. Hermione wondered when Malfoy had grown up so fast. They were barely in their mid-twenties, and yet he seemed as if he had already walked this earth for eighty years and longer. Hell, Harry hadn't grown up at all despite having a three-year-old running around the house. Sometimes, Hermione forgot how young they all were still. After the war, everyone had realised pretty quickly that their childhood was over.

She had just finished the last bite of the sandwich that had tasted stale and left a fuzzy feeling in her mouth when her stomach flipped and regurgitated her breakfast with painful cramps. She barely made it to the toilet.

Her tummy ached when she had emptied its contents the way they had come in. This wasn't right. She shouldn't have morning sickness any longer. She was way past that.

Wiping her mouth, Hermione slowly got to her feet and dragged herself back into her room.

* * *

Malfoy came back when she had put on one of her few dresses—the comfortable blue one—with a cardigan and tights. It was the only thing that fit properly. She didn't bother to put on shoes. His carpets were plush and clean, and she rather liked the feeling under her feet.

There was something about books that just made Hermione feel warm and secure, like a child cradled in the arms of their mother.

She quickly got lost in the large assortment of different topics and somehow completely forgot why she needed books so badly right now.

Laden with five books—all leather-bound and at least 400 pages thick—she spotted a comfortable armchair in the far corner with an ornate cherry-wood table beside it where she set down her pile and then snuggled between the cushions and pillow before picking up the first one.

Halfway through the first page, she remembered that books were actually good for something other than sweet indulgence and that she desperately needed information on her current… condition.

Setting the tome on her lap aside, she got up again, walking along the shelves to discern the sorting mechanism Malfoy used. It seemed to be topic-related which was a relief.

"Are you attempting to read several books at once? Surely even Hermione Granger has her limits when it comes to reading?"

Her head snapped up, and only then Hermione realised that Malfoy had never left. In fact, he was sitting at a small desk close by the door, several important-looking papers strewn all over it. And he wore… reading glasses. They had a small, grey frame. _If they were round, they'd look like Harry's_ , Hermione thought and smiled a little.

"I didn't see you wearing those in school," Hermione tried to cover up that she had stopped right in front of the medical books by stepping aside as if she was more interested in plants and their healing attributes.

His hand rose to his face as he had apparently forgotten about his glasses. "Well, I was a little vain back then."

Hermione scoffed and then laughed. "Indeed."

She could swear she saw a little smile playing around his lips. But maybe that was just the light falling on his face through the gothic windows.

He turned back to his papers, and Hermione back to her books, but his presence kept her from taking the books she actually wanted to have a closer look at. Irritation was replaced by despair. She rather felt like butting her head against the shelf in front of her, but refrained as that would surely land her back in St. Mungo's.

She picked one of the potions books instead of the ones on healing. At least some potions books had cross-references to spells that in complicated combinations could achieve a similar effect to some of the potions. Maybe she'd get lucky.

* * *

The next day, Hermione skimmed the books that Malfoy had allowed her to take up to her room from sunrise until the sun started to set again. In between, she shoved whatever Tipsy brought her into her mouth, not caring what it was or to even chew properly. It didn't sit well with her, so she just pushed the plate aside after having eaten half of it.

She knew, Malfoy wouldn't be happy about that so it was no surprise that Tipsy appeared in the evening, letting her know that he wanted her to eat with him.

The table in the dining room was set just like the last time they had shared a meal there with Malfoy on one end and Hermione on the other. Between them the table was heavy and laden with food.

Malfoy didn't look up from the paper he was reading when she entered. Everything in his posture told her that he was in no mood for idle chit-chat.

"If you refuse to eat, I'll personally make sure you do from now on," he warned quietly as she draped her napkin across her lap, sipping at the apple juice Tipsy brought her.

Hermione observed him. His eyes looked somehow sharper than usual through his thin reading glasses.

Tipsy brought the most delicious looking curry. The smell, though, nearly made her gag. It was as if the elf had piled up rotten rat corpses on her plate. Her eyes watered.

What would she give for just some plain toast. Toast with…

She clenched her fork, pressing the butt of it into the table. What was wrong with her? She loved curry, she could eat nothing but delicious, spicy curry from morning till evening, all day, every day.

Only when Malfoy asked, "What are you crying about?" did Hermione realised that tears of frustration had leaked from her eyes.

"I ha-hate mustard."

He frowned. "So?"

"I hate it, but I want it so badly!" she wailed. "What is wrong with me?"

"Morgana's tits, just eat some damn mustard then."

"But I hate it!" Hermione sniffed, wiping at her tears angrily. "Do you have mustard?"

"Of course." He rolled his eyes. "Tipsy, get some mustard."

"On toast!"

"On toast," he added for good measure.

Tinky didn't even take more than two seconds to appear beside her, pushing a plate with plain toast and mustard on it on the table. The elf's chin was barely reaching to the edge of the table.

Hermione thanked her, noting that the yellow mush was spread carefully to the very edges of the toast.

Taking a small bite, she dropped the toast back onto the plate. "No this is not it. This is disgusting!"

"Enough." Malfoy threw his newspaper aside. "You said you wanted mustard and you have it."

"But…"

She bit her lip, glaring at the toast with mustard the colour of troll boogey.

Taking off his reading glasses, Malfoy massaged the bridge of his nose. "But what?" His voice was very quiet but cut across the table like an arrow shot from a hunting bow.

"It's not the one I always ate with my parents when we went to France. They had this mustard in Dijon that was actually edible."

"Bloody hell, of course it has to be effin French mustard. Everything For Her Majesty, Queen of the Mudbloods, isn't it?"

She stared at him, frozen in shock. Then, very slowly, she wiped off the last of her tears, pulled the napkin from her lap and dropped it on the awful mustard toast.

"I'm not hungry any longer," she said and got up, leaving with as much dignity as she could muster.

* * *

Hermione threw herself onto her bed, pushing the books that still weighted down the covers down with her feet to make space for herself. With a satisfying thud, they landed on the floor. Old Hermione would have never hurt a book, but now, she really hoped they broke a spine and crumpled some pages, just so Malfoy would have to replace them.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she refused to think about him, about what he had just said to her. She felt strangely empty, but that wasn't surprising considering she hadn't eaten anything for dinner.

Closing her eyes, Hermione willed herself to sleep.

It was very quiet in her room, the window was slightly open, letting in a cool touch of night air that caressed her skin.

She could hear the tick tock of grandfather clocks all over the house.

The curtains trembled slightly in the breeze, and when her eyes turned dry from the fresh air, Hermione had to blink several times.

Sleep evaded her which was annoying. It was as if her brain refused to shut down, before she replayed his words thrown over the dinner table again.

_Queen of Mudbloods_. That was her. Years earlier, she would have been flattered that he considered her a queen of anything, but that had been a time when Mudblood had just been another version of her name on a Slytherin's tongue.

No one had called her a Mudblood in a long time. Especially not Malfoy. He hadn't even uttered something like that since they had met again. Until now.

A flutter in her belly made her tense. She didn't want to throw up, not again, not now that she had snuggled up into her blankets like a hermit crab in its shell.

The flutter came again, gentle like a butterfly on an early summer morning, spreading its wings in the first rays of the sun. It was no nausea. Rather, it was the source of all her problems itself. Hermione pressed a hand to her stomach, willing the flutter to go away, but it only made her feel another flutter against her palm, as if something was trying to touch her from the inside, trying to connect with her.

She pulled her hand away quickly.

The door opened, and Hermione swiveled her head towards it with a little too much force, feeling a sharp pull in her neck. Groaning she rubbed it, glaring at Malfoy standing in the now-open doorway.

"Fuck off, ferret."

He ignored her and entered instead. In his hand, he carried a plate. Wordlessly, he put it on the nightstand beside her and sat down in her desk chair at the foot of her bed, a safe distance away.

Hermione pushed herself up in bed, eyeing first him and then the plate that had two sandwiches with mustard on it. The smell was heaven. The smell was family.

Without hesitation, she grabbed the first toast and without even taking a breath, and wolfed it down whole.

"Luckily, I have a friend in France that could throw a glass of Dijon Mustard through the floo," Malfoy said, watching her eat the second toast.

Hermione nodded, agreeing that indeed she was very lucky.

* * *

"Time's up."

Hermione looked up from her book. "Hm?"

Malfoy stood over her and a glance at his desk revealed that all papers had been sorted into neat little stacks, his thin reading glasses on top one of them. "I have other things to do, I'll take you back to your room."

"I can go on my own," she said, quickly.

He shook his head. "I will take you to your room."

Hermione didn't move, just looked at him, trying to get a rise out of him. It was a game, and she liked to play the cat from time to time, even though she clearly was the mouse at the moment.

"Granger," he growled, stepping closer.

"You don't want me here in your house."

"Obviously."

"Let me go then."

"No."

" _Please_." It physically hurt to beg.

"I said no."

"I'll do… I'll let you fuck me if that's what you want?" Merlin, she was absolutely pathetic. And desperate.

"Really?" He leaned over her, trapping her with his hands on the armrests, a wolfish grin on his lips.

Slowly, Hermione nodded. He didn't move.

Raising a hand, she lightly touched his cheek, feeling the tiniest bit of stubble under her fingers. Her eyes flickered to his, and then down to his lips. He still didn't move. Didn't even seem to breathe.

Leaning forward, she touched her lips to his, gently and slowly, tugging at his lower lip, and then kissing the corner of his mouth.

He sighed, finally relaxing, and Hermione moved her hands to his hair, dragging her nails through the soft locks at the back of his head and along his neck. At this point, Malfoy opened his mouth, and her tongue darted out boldly, tasting the tip of his own.

She got this feeling in her chest where her skin felt at the same time like liquid ice and molten fire, the sensation spreading in soft, so very soft waves along her neck and arms downwards until she could feel a pull within her that drew her closer to him, and made her want to rub her thighs together to create friction.

Impatience roared to life in her chest. It felt so foreign, and yet it was something she knew she had felt a lot when she was younger. When she still had desired things—things of substance and importance, not just alcohol and sex to mute her senses. Letting the sensation ride her cognition into bold action, she pulled Malfoy closer until he had to brace himself on the armchair with a knee between her legs.

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she allowed herself to slide a little lower until his knee was right where she wanted it, her dress bunched up around it like a river parting and flowing around a rock.

He braced himself against the backrest, twisting his face away from hers, tearing his lips from her own. His head came to rest on her shoulder, face turned into the crook of her neck. "Granger, stop this."

Her hands fell away, heavy as lead.

Deep inside, dissatisfaction boiled over. Hermione bristled. "I might just be a fucking slut, but even for a whore you have to pay a price. You don't get them for free."

" _I won't_ ," he emphasised, " _let you out_."

"Then get off me, you brute." She tried wriggling free, and luckily he let his knee drop from the place between her legs, but Hermione had to actually push him away with her feet pressing against his thighs to make him back off.

Pulling her knees against her body, Hermione glared up at him. It hurt to be used. It hurt like a fucking hot iron pressed against her chest. She was aware that she had used him as well, had used so many others before him to get a tiny sliver of satisfaction, to feel that needy impatience she felt right before an orgasm. But using her like this, promising and not intending to deliver—it was a betrayal.

His hands turned to fists at his sides and then relaxed again.

"Five years," Malfoy said, standing up straighter as if trying to make a point for himself rather for her. "I have five fucking years of probation. They are watching every step I take. One little mistake, and I'll be in Azkaban. I have one bloody year left, and you decide to fuck things up royally. If this child dies, I'll be the one they blame." He was breathing heavily as if this was her fault when _he_ had been the Death Eater who had orchestrated Dumbledore's murder. "I will not go to Azkaban," he said. "I refuse to let that happen. So excuse me if I don't give a flying Snitch about what you want in this."

* * *

They reached some kind of silent agreement. Hermione would eat all her meals even though something was definitely wrong as her stomach wouldn't hold in half the food which was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Malfoy, in turn, came every evening and spent a few hours with her in his reading room, bent over whatever work he hadn't managed to finish during the day.

Hermione felt her body rebelling against the thing growing inside her; she was tired even after sleeping for ten hours straight. It became harder to hide from Malfoy, so she became bolder in her research and picked books that were more medical. He didn't seem to notice, and as long as she kept an eye on him to make sure he was still occupied with his work, she was able to hide exactly what kind of books she read.

She was reading even though she had already come upon a way to do the abortion herself. The method just wasn't … ideal. It would be very uncomfortable. And dangerous. It resembled something more a backstreet abortion done with a wire hanger than a surgical procedure. This was why she had searched for different options, but after three days in which she had started feeling more miserable with every meal her stomach rejected, Hermione couldn't wait any longer.

Conducting something so intrusive to your own body was weirdly comparable to ripping off a bandaid. At first, she had been calm, had gone through the different steps and the spells she had to perform. Then, she had pulled off her pants—the ones Malfoy had given her since her own were too tight to close over her rounded belly—and sat in the bathtub to avoid making a mess. No need to bleed on Malfoy's perfectly plush carpets.

To that point, her mind was focused and sharp like a scalpel. Hermione knew it couldn't last and right when she raised her wand, pointing the tip at her lower abdomen where the faint purple scar had started to stretch over the slight bump forming, panic settled in. It wasn't a sudden flash of panic, but a deeply rooted, bone-rattling kind of panic. Her face felt hot and when she wiped her hands across it, she noticed that it was sweaty.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Hermione repositioned the wand, mentally running through the movements. Her hand was shaking.

"Goddammit!" Tears leaked out of her eyes, and Hermione tried to laugh them away, to assure herself it would be alright. Her laugh echoed hollowly in the emptiness of the small bathroom.

What a chicken she was. She hadn't hesitated to cut Death Eater throats in the battle of Hogwarts, but she wasn't in a battle now and everything was clear and calm. The tub was cold against her back and she tried desperately to get more comfortable on the hard surface, but it was in vain.

Closing her eyes briefly, Hermione tried to focus on the things she would do once all this was over. She would buy little Jamie all the sweets Honeydukes had to offer and a toy racing broom. She would tell Harry that she forgave him for leaving her to her own devices. She would ask Ron to try and be just friends. She'd visit Australia to see if her parents were still happy in their new life, void of a daughter they couldn't remember anymore. She would start to take care of herself, try to love herself again.

*****

With a resolute slashing motion, she moved her wand, performing the spell she had repeated silently for the entire night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my betas Nora Fares and FantasticLavenderCrystals :) I owe you both a lot!


	6. The Sixth Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flower symbolism:
> 
> A yellow carnation means rejection or "you have disappointed me"
> 
> Sunflowers signify pure thoughts. It symbolizes adoration and dedication. It is symbolic of dedicated love.
> 
> \---  
> Big thanks to my betas Nora Fares and FantasticLavenderCrystals!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> (*WARNING)
> 
> Drawing in a shaky breath, Hermione repositioned the wand, mentally running through the movements. Her hand was shaking.
> 
> *With a resolute slashing motion, she moved her wand, performing the spell she had repeated silently for the entire night.

Hermione remembered blood. Lots of blood and pain and then people barging in, probably alerted by the spells they had put on her.

She couldn't remember much after that.

But now she was back on the bed with straps in St. Mungo's in the room with high ceilings and a fetus still growing inside her.

Of course she had miserably failed. There had only been a 50/50 chance to begin with, but she had deemed it worth it then. She was so sure she had done everything exactly right. After all, Hermione Granger didn't fail.

She had though; the child inside her was no longer just a thing, it was growing and the scar on her abdomen was aching. A strange magic was whirling inside her; she could feel it clearly as it pushed through her veins, mixed with her blood. Her body was corrupted, something alien growing inside her that didn't belong.

Melinda entered, looking at her with sad eyes. "I really had hoped that the next time I'd see you would be when you're in labour."

Hermione couldn't find the strength to reply to that. Maybe she should be angry, or laugh at the naivete of the nurse. Maybe she should apologise for not valuing the life inside her as much as Melinda did. Why couldn't life be fair and give children to those that deserved them?

Putting her sunshine-smile back in place, the nurse put a tray laden with hospital food down onto the table next to Hermione.

"Today it's mashed potatoes and peas!" she announced as if it was delivered from a gourmet kitchen. Hermione's stomach rolled. She wouldn't be able to keep it down.

"I can't eat."

"No arguing, the baby is hungry!" Swinging her wand, Melinda moved the head of her bed upwards so Hermione was in a laid-back sitting position.

Obediently, Hermione opened her mouth and took the first spoonful. It was no use telling the witch that she could feed herself.

The mash was tasteless, the peas overcooked. Hermione forced herself to eat half the plate until her stomach started cramping.

Out of reflex, she tried to bend over, but the straps held tight. Tears came to her eyes as the acidic sensation of her stomach fluids rose up her esophagus. Hermione couldn't twist to the side, so when the potatoes made their way up, she coughed and something went down the wrong pipe.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione wheezed, tearing at the straps to bend over the side of the bed, but they didn't budge and with every gasp for air, she felt her lungs fill with fluids and potatoes. As another wave of nausea hit her, the only thing she could think of was that she would suffocate.

"Bollocks." Melinda let the spoon drop and grabbed for her wand. " _Evanesco_!"

Hermione gasped in air that finally reached her lungs, and she coughed violently. It felt as if dragon fire had been poured down her throat.

"Steady, breathe." Melinda sent some kind of spell that would alert the Mediwitch and then opened the straps on her hands with a swish of her wand.

The Mediwitch entered, door banging against the wall with the force she had opened it, and she was at her side just a second later.

"What is going on here? I did not allow Miss Granger to be unbound."

"Emergency," Melinda said quickly. "She was going to choke on her meal."

"I told you I can't eat," Hermione wheezed.

"What's this about?"

She looked up at the Mediwitch. "Can't keep it down."

The witch frowned with worry and cast an examination spell.

Hermione had barely been able to keep any of the hospital food down. Her stomach felt as empty as before.

"I'm afraid we have to take the bindings off. It's too much of a risk," Melinda said.

The Mediwitch nodded, squinting at the fine tendrils of colourful magic surrounding Hermione's body, telling her whatever was going on inside her. "Give her some fastidium potion, it will help her keep the food down. We need to make sure her nutrient-levels—"

"What happened the other day?" Hermione asked. "I know I didn't make a mistake. There shouldn't have been so much—so much blood."

The witch pursed her lips. "We put protective spells on the fetus and your uterus. Your magic bounced off and hurt the surrounding areas instead. It could have ended very badly indeed and was a foolish attempt at an illegal abortion."

Sinking back against the pillows, Hermione endured some more prodding and pushing until the Mediwitch left again. She was angry. Maybe if they had told her what exactly they had done to her body, she wouldn't even have tried! It was _her right_ to know; instead they treated her with as much dignity as a lab rat.

But anger wasn't the right word; she felt like she was too far removed from feeling anger. It was more like a tired irritation. Resignation.

* * *

Malfoy came in the evening. A bouquet of yellow carnations, frilling lavishly at the corners, in his hand that he unceremoniously deposited on her nightstand, not even bothering with a vase.

 _They will wilt away,_ she wanted to tell him, but his expression shut her up. It held the same tired irritation she felt.

"Granger." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "What the actual fuck? Did you want to kill yourself?" He plopped down into the armchair, void of his usual elegance.

Hermione pulled the covers up higher—at least she could move this time—because she felt ashamed. Ashamed that he thought that about her, that she'd prefer death to being pregnant with his child. From his perspective, it must be like a slap to the face. Probably more like a punch to the gut, a Cruciatus to the chest. _Whatever._ It wasn't nice to be disliked by the whole wizarding public, but it certainly wasn't a wonderful feeling when someone preferred death over being unwillingly pregnant with your child.

He didn't bother waiting for an explanation. She didn't know what she'd say anyways.

"Potter practically sleeps in front of your door. They won't let him in. Only close family members they said. Apparently, I'm considered to be that now." He barked a dry laugh. "If I were Potter, I'd give them hell. He's the bloody boy-who-lived. He really should make use of that title some more."

Oh, she agreed.

"Listen, when this is over, I won't—I won't bother you." He looked down at his hands, fingers twisted between his knees with his elbows resting heavily on his thighs. "You don't need to worry about the child or money or anything. I'll stay away if that's what you want. I'll take the kid if you don't want it, I don't know. Just… whatever you want. Don't hurt yourself anymore, okay?"

Of course he didn't understand; he didn't know that there was no other way for her.

She'd have to tell him the whole truth.

Hermione opened her mouth, but her voice failed her, her mind shut down, and she closed it again. One moment, she was ready to spill all her secrets, let him in on her pain and fears, and the next it was gone with the wind.

Courage was a volatile thing.

He didn't look up at her, and the silence was tense. Then he sighed, got up and left. And Hermione was alone again.

* * *

Two days later, the Mediwitch entered together with Melinda who brought her breakfast.

The healer didn't look happy, and Hermione nervously tugged at her hospital gown. "After breakfast, you must get dressed. Mr Malfoy will pick you up at ten." She scribbled something on her clipboard, ripping the paper off and shoving it at Hermione. "Your release documents." Swiftly turning away, the Mediwitch made her way out of the room again.

"What's this about?" Hermione asked Melinda.

The nurse shrugged. "I think Mr Potter had a word with the senior Mediwizard. There was lots of shouting involved as far as I can tell."

"Huh." So, Harry had played the chosen-one card for once.

Maybe she'd forgive him for letting her down before. Although, as Malfoy was to pick her up again, it didn't seem as if her situation would change much. She definitely wouldn't try the abortion method another time, that would be insanity. Malfoy more than likely wouldn't allow her to keep researching freely—if she would get her hands on any books at all that was.

* * *

The more time passed, the more Hermione felt like a dragon's treasure that was alive and kicking in a cave. The walls were closing in, her belly was growing and growing, and her body started to give her a hard time. The potions actually helped her eat a bit, but one morning, she tried to get up and just collapsed, her legs feeling like Flobberworms and her field of vision exploding in a checker-pattern of black and white, shimmering at the edges like static on an old telly.

Tipsy found her minutes later, still kneeling on the ground, clinging to the covers that were already partly pulled of the bed.

And then came the fever.

Swallowing was painful, her limbs were heavy and sore. Her head was killing her, feeling like it was being split apart slowly with a wooden wedge drenched in water and slowly expanding.

She was hot and cold.

"What do we have here?" The healer strode into the room, closely followed by Malfoy.

"Fever, since yesterday," he said.

"Just give me a pepperup," Hermione croaked.

"I don't think so. Please sit up and strip."

"If you're not going to help me, you can just leave."

"Mr Potter might have put his weight in to give you the privilege of staying at home, but if you resist examination, I will be forced to take you back to St. Mungo's."

She sighed dramatically and pushed up on the bed, pulling the covers tighter around herself to keep the chill at bay.

"Strip."

Hermione shot a glance at Malfoy, who stood by the door, arms crossed. He caught her eye and slowly, a grin formed on his face. "Nothing I haven't seen before, Granger."

_Oh, that bastard._

The healer didn't even bother to send Malfoy out or tell him off on her behalf. She prodded at Hermione, checked her breathing and took overly long while Malfoy didn't conceal his open stare.

"Must be a lovely view from there, ogling a sick woman," Hermione hissed when the Mediwitch ordered her to stop covering herself with her hands so she could properly do her examination spells.

Malfoy shrugged. "You have to take what you can get. Ex-Death Eaters aren't exactly well-liked by the female population; I didn't have anybody else strip for me in a long time."

"That's just sad." She sneered.

He shrugged again. "I got one now, so I'm not complaining."

"Fuck off, Malfoy." Her voice broke in the final syllable of his name, and Hermione coughed when swallowing made her wince.

The Medwitch tutted. "You need sleep, Miss Granger. I can also give you something to keep the fever low, but your body will have to do the rest. We already have you on enough medication to keep you from throwing up."

"Great, maybe my body will just kill the thing on its own." She tried to sound cheery, but her voice was weak, and it sounded more pathetic than anything.

"You don't have to worry, we will make sure that the fever won't reach threatening levels."

"Oh, _joy."_

"Mr Malfoy, I expect you to check on her regularly, make sure she gets enough to eat and has a drink at least every half hour. If the fever rises, you are to alert me immediately."

Malfoy clearly didn't like the way the Mediwitch talked to him as shown by his hard stare. _Good._

* * *

Hermione fell into a coma-like sleep, never fully gone, but not lucid enough to actually move.

"Miss Granger must drink plenty water!" Tipsy reminded her every few hours, and Hermione dutifully slugged down the glass held to her lips, wincing with every swallow, before turning back around and hoping to never wake again.

This was awful, pure torture.

* * *

The next time she woke, it was dark. Only the dim light of a street lamp outside peeked through the gaps of the curtains.

Her arms were heavy, and the blanket on top of her weighed her down like a lead apron. It was stifling hot, and her lungs felt were filled with liquid tar. Pulling her feet up to kick off the covers, she moaned at how her muscles trembled at every movement.

"Don't."

Hermione flinched. A hand held onto the blankets and pulled them back up to her chin.

Squinting through the dark, she saw the outline of a person against the night-grey walls. "Malfoy?"

"Try to sleep."

She wanted to scoff, tell him sleep was all she did and it didn't help, but it seemed like too much effort was needed for that.

"Give me a pepperup, please. Or just a coughing draught," she whimpered. "Anything?"

He sighed and moved to sit on the ground beside her bed, level with her head. "You know what the healer said." His voice was soft, reduced to a deep tenor that vibrated through her chest.

She watched his face, pale, nearly translucent in the darkness. Her eyes traced the lines of his eyebrows where they arched elegantly above his eyes, the slope of his cheeks below the high cheekbones, his eyes, the same grey in the night as they were during the day. "You hate me, don't you?"

He sighed, picking at a loose thread on her covers. "No."

Moisture filled her eyes, and a throb in her temples let her know that she was about to cry. Why this small one-word confession of his made her sentimental was beyond her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "This is all my fault."

"You should sleep." He got up from his spot beside her bed, but hovered, unsure how to proceed as she was staring up at him with tears in her eyes.

"Where's my wand?"

He shook his head. "It's somewhere safe."

"I can end this for both of us, just give me my wand."

Malfoy pulled up her covers again, wrapping them closer around her body even though they were already up to her chin. Hermione considered it more a nervous tick than a sign that he cared for her comfort.

"Give me my wand, Malfoy." Her voice hardened, and she shoved the covers away to grab for him, demanding, pulling him closer. "Give it back."

"No, Granger."

"Give me my wand!"

"Calm down, you're going to—"

"Give me my bloody wand! NOW!" Tears of frustration leaked from her eyes, boiling over the rim of her self-control.

He pried her fingers from where she dragged her nails across his arm. "Calm down." One of his hands touched her cheek where the teas had formed tracks, gouging into her skin like riverbeds.

Flinching violently at the intimate caress, Hermione pulled back. "Don't touch me!"

He withdrew his hands.

"Give me back my wand." Her voice was like the cry of a lost puppy. The tears didn't stop as she grasped at thin air. She needed her wand. Who was she without it? She wasn't even a proper witch.

"It's not safe," he said, quietly, a careful whisper in the darkness.

* * *

She didn't remember much after that.

In the morning, the Mediwitch was there again, watching Hermione badly hold back her coughing that only made her hurt more than relieve the scratch in her throat.

"The fever is stable; a few more days and it should go down. Keep her nurtured, give her enough water and leg compresses. Have someone look after her at least three times a day—"

"Why don't you just give her something? Isn't the baby at risk too?"

"The baby is protected. We made sure of that last time she was at St. Mungo's."

Hermione groaned. "What did you do? I'm right here, what did you do to me?"

The healer looked down at her, contemplating. She seemed to arrive at the conclusion that Hermione couldn't do any more harm than she had already tried to; she said, "The fever is the result of a combination of potions and spells to keep the baby isolated from bad influences and your own magic."

" _You_ did this to me!" She coughed, her whole thorax hurting so bad, tears pricked her eyes.

"That's why I know it will get better. You'll have to be strong now. Pregnancy is not easy, Miss Granger."

"I don't want this! Make it end!" Her voice was raw, and she clawed at her throat when her vocal cords felt like they were on _fire_.

"Don't be so dramatic, it will pass." The healer shook Malfoy's hand and left.

Hermione rolled onto her side, straining her eyes to keep them open as her body simply wanted to shut down completely and sleep for eternity.

"Malfoy?"

He hovered at the door frame for a moment, but then left without looking back at her.

She saw her hand in front of her eyes, extending towards the spot where he had stood. Her vision was blurred.

 _Come back, Draco_.

* * *

Managing to drag herself to the bathroom to wash herself after eating a bowl of broth Tipsy had brought her, Hermione settled back against the headboard. She had requested some books to distract her from all the ways her body was hurting, but her pounding headache prevented her from focusing enough to read more than a few lines.

"Is Miss wanting more books? More soup?"

"No, thank you, Tipsy."

"Master asks if Miss is accepting a visitor today."

Her ears perked up. "Who's visiting?"

"Mr Potter has tried to come visit nearly every day since Miss returned from St. Mungo's. Master said he is not welcome, that you not wanting to see him, but Master has been wondering if Miss is changing her mind?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I want to see him, please."

Tipsy smiled widely. "He will be here in the evening then. Tipsy will prepare scones for the guest!"

Hermione couldn't help but brighten a little at elf's excitement at the prospect of having visitors. Tipsy had been doting on her like she hadn't been able to spoil anyone in years. She reminded Hermione of Molly Weasley whenever her children came by to a Sunday Brunch at the Burrow. With all kids out of the house, she often complained that no one needed her anymore, that she wished her children would visit more often. Some people were simply born as mothers, Hermione suspected. Tipsy seemed to have the traits too, as nothing seemed to make her happier than to take care of Hermione in every way.

Thinking about the Burrow made Hermione's heart ache.

Molly had written her after her fall-out with Ron that she was still welcome and always a part of their family. But Hermione hadn't dared to set foot into the family home. It reminded her too much of how she hadn't been enough to be fully part of that family bliss. She simply wasn't like them. She wasn't a pureblood witch with the values and family history the Weasleys held dear, and she wasn't born to be a mother with her own family, or at least that had been taken from her.

* * *

Sure enough, Harry knocked on her door when the sun outside slowly dimmed.

Hermione had pulled her hair from her face and washed it with cold water to bring a bit of colour back to her pallid cheeks. But it was futile, and she had crawled back into bed, trying her best not to fall asleep until he came.

"'Mione, how are you?"

He hovered a few steps from the bed. Hermione could see in his stance that he wanted to hug her, but was unsure if she'd let him.

Smiling, she stretched her arms out to him and pulled him to her. "Harry, thank you for coming."

He settled into the armchair he had dragged to the side of her bed. "You're not mad any longer?" He sounded like a small boy that had been disobedient and broken his toy broom while flying at dangerous heights.

Hermione sighed. "What does it matter? I'm tired of being mad at everyone. I have been for too long I think…"

He chuckled. "Oh, come on, you're a master at holding grudges."

Raising an eyebrow, she watched him shrink and try to backtrack. Hermione laughed. "I didn't think the Snape-gaze still worked on you."

Harry scowled but couldn't suppress his laughter for long. "I'll be traumatised for life."

She nodded. "Aren't we all?"

"Come on, you need your anger like you need air! I've seen you knit your fingers raw for SPEW, fueled with your contempt for wizarding society. Surely, there is still something you can be mad at to fuel you now?"

"I don't know … Tipsy seems quite happy, doesn't she?" Hermione eyed the scones the house-elf had shoved at Harry's lab. "And besides Dobby, none of the other elves appreciated my efforts."

"But surely, you still dislike Umbridge? You initiated a school-children army out of pure contempt for that woman!"

"She's no longer a threat, is she?"

He frowned. "No, I guess Azkaban houses her well. What about Malfoy? Remember how you punched him in third year for getting Buckbeak nearly killed? He still is a right git. Although, I hope he's treating you alright here?"

"How can I hate him when I dragged him into this mess in the first place…?" Hermione trailed off, one of her hands moving to her belly automatically, and she flinched and pulled it back. She didn't want to touch it, didn't want to caress it like a precious gem, like she cared for the thing growing inside her.

Harry fell silent. "Tell me you're alright here, Hermione? I can try to get you to move in with us … I got you out of St. Mungo's, so I'll just have to convince—"

"Ginny wouldn't want me, Harry."

"I can talk to her."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to stand between you, and I don't deserve your or her hospitality."

"But you are our friend!" he said vehemently, but Hermione only gave him a small, sad smile. A right friend she was… She hadn't acted like a friend to Harry in a long time. When had been the last time she'd asked him how he was? He looked tired, now that she really took in his appearance.

She opened her mouth, but then changed her mind. "How's Jamie?"

Harry shrugged, staring down at the scone he had started to pick to pieces. "Oh, he's… well, mostly."

She narrowed her eyes. "What happened?"

"It's nothing."

"Harry!"

"It's just, ugh, we had Ron for dinner yesterday…" Harry pulled a face. "You really don't want to hear it."

"What did he do to Jamie?"

"Nothing, nothing like that. He just heard about you being in St. Mungo's, so he asked about it, and I kind of had to tell him…" He didn't meet her eyes.

"And?" she probed.

"He freaked out a little—a lot. Jamie wouldn't sleep after that, was really scared."

"Oh, Ron…"

"Yeah, Ginny banned him from visiting till Christmas. She was livid."

"He probably wasn't happy about it, was he?" she asked quietly.

"Said some pretty ugly things, it's really not worth repeating, Hermione."

She nodded. "Okay."

To cut the uncomfortable tension, she changed the subject. "I want you to be godfather. When I don't make it and the child survives."

"Don't say that, Hermione. You'll be good, the child will be good. It will all work out in the end."

"You know that's not true, Harry. I should have never gotten pregnant."

"Medicine has advanced. You should have some faith."

She barked a dry laugh. "You are the one with the faith. I'm the one with the facts. Hasn't it always been like that?"

He shrugged; his crooked smile seemed worried.

"I know you want me to cheer up and be positive…" She sighed. "But this isn't the Muggle world. You know how backwards this society is. They don't invent new things every day, there is no technological advancement. There still isn't even a treatment for dragon pox."

Hermione watched him grasping for consolidating words.

To ease his mind, she added, "You know what, you're probably right. I'm just feeling overly pessimistic today, it's the mood swings. Hormones, you know?" Her smile came easy, but it was false.

* * *

Harry's visit had been like a magical cure, and the next morning, Hermione was finally able to get up and into the shower without feeling dizzy.

She found a note with her breakfast, stating that Tipsy had her free day and would spend the time in the city to visit her cousin. It was endearing to hear that Tipsy had her own family and could visit them. This was all Hermione had wanted for house-elves. It was in the most unexpected of wizarding homes that she found the respect for the lovely creatures, she had sworn to guarantee all of them. In another life.

Old Hermione had been passionate; she had had big dreams and goals. She had made lists and plans. This was a bitter-sweet reminder of her past when Draco had been so very different as she had been herself different.

The note ended with a warning to not try and kill herself, letting her know that her door was open so she could get anything she needed herself.

Hermione was elated and wolfed down the two sandwiches which were slightly less perfect, the butter not quite spread to the corners, the cheese not trimmed to absolute perfection. She suspected that Draco had made them himself, which she wasn't quite sure what she felt about. She shoved the notion aside, unwilling to examine the warm feeling that glowed in her chest.

Ready to make the best use of her newfound freedom, she decided on a trip to the reading room, or how Draco liked to call it: his library. It was just a euphemism, which didn't keep Hermione from being secretly jealous.

She skimmed into one of the dresses Tipsy had one day brought her, after Hermione had complained that none of her jeans fit her anymore. She wasn't a dress girl as they were simply unpractical, but those dresses were so damn comfortable, made out of soft cotton, flowing over her growing belly without making her look like a barrel on two sticks as legs.

Together with modest tights, the dresses had quickly become her favourite thing to wear.

She skipped out of her room and towards the stairs, unable to wait any longer to get her hands on books after the long sick hours where even reading a single sentence had given her a splitting headache.

It happened when she had just taken the first few steps down the stairs, to impatient to hold onto the rails.

Suddenly, her whole body tingled, starting in her feet and fingertips, the sensation spreading to her eyes where it left her partly blinded by a checkered kaleidoscope. She missed a step as her knees started wobbling in her disorientation. Then she went tumbling.

A loud scream sounded and only when her fall abruptly ended at the foot of the stairs, she became aware that it had been _her_ scream.

For a few terrible moments, she was unable to breathe or move; all air was pushed out of her. Then she forced herself to take a deep breath, and with trembling arms pushed herself up, pulling her body against the banister. Her breathing was heavy, her fingers skittish as they moved over her body to check for injuries.

And then the pain came with such an unexpected force, that she screamed again, ear-piercing, throat-burning, blood-curdling scream.

Her whole body trembled and she had to grit her teeth to keep unmoving to not joistle her lower body too much so she wouldn't feel like the pain was tearing her apart.

"Tipsy?" she whimpered, but Tipsy had her free day; Tipsy wouldn't come.

Hermione gripped the railing hard and, pressing her eyes shut, she slowly pulled herself to the wall by the stairs, feeling hot tears swell her lids and escaping down her cheeks. She slowly, so very slowly, turned her back to the wall and breathed like she had run a marathon when she could lean against it.

She breathed through her teeth, her jaw locked to keep herself from trembling.

 _It's just the leg_ , Hermione repeated in her head, over and over. But her leg was on bloody fire! It felt as if her bones were sticking out, sharp like knives piercing her skin. She dared a look at her lower body, feeling relief wash over her that nothing was bent out of shape or bleeding. She wasn't sure she would have been able to handle that. Still, just looking at the aching leg made her nauseous and she quickly closed her eyes, letting her head loll backwards against the wall while she counted her breaths.

She put her trembling hands on her belly, aware that she shouldn't, shouldn't, _shouldn't_ get attached, get hopes and dreams and wishes, but it was comforting, distracting.

Time trickled by slowly, creeping through the hallways of the townhouse with every tick of the grandfather clocks that seemed to slow down as the ache in her leg spread and grew.

* * *

"Why are you sitting on the floor?"

Her head snapped up, and she immediately winced at the tiny jolt that movement sent through her whole body to her leg.

"Oh fuck!" Draco was by her side in three quick strides, dropping his satchel onto the floor, not caring for a stack of papers sliding across the fine-grained marble. "What the hell?"

"Don't touch it!" Hermione swatted his hand away from her leg that was extending towards her.

Holding his hands up, he squatted down beside her. "What did you do this time?"

"It's not my fault!" It came out more as a wail than a defense. Her eyes started watering. How she hated this unwanted over-sensitivity. She wasn't some goddamn princess sleeping on peas, and she definitely wasn't a teenager anymore that randomly felt like the world hated her for no reason at all and went through an angsty phase. But apparently, pregnancy hormones turned her into a sniveling, wailing useless doll. "I just became dizzy and tripped. I didn't break my fucking leg on purpose."

"It's okay. Calm down. I'll contact the Mediwitch."

"I don't want that bitch anywhere near me!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. You're gonna hurt yourself." He patted her shoulder, his hand big and warm and heavy as she leaned back her head to try and breathe the pain away.

"Just give me my wand."

He frowned. "I'm not allowed."

"No one will know, Draco."

He fumbled with his tie, pulling it loose with agitated fingers. She knew tears were forming in her corners again. It was so much easier to be strong when she was on her own, but his nervous presence made her want to bawl at the pain. She also knew it was playing dirty to not hide those tears from him, but she didn't.

Because a) she wanted to make the pain go away, and b) she wanted to hold her wand again so fucking bad that she'd pull herself up the stairs just to throw herself down again and break her other leg as well if that meant she would hold her beloved Vinewood again.

He looked at her, saw her tears, sighed. Pushing a strand of hair from her face, he nodded. "Hold on. I'll be quick."

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, counting the seconds until he returned. _One-two-three_ , she let go of the breath she was holding, _six-seven-eight_ , she swallowed thickly, _ten-eleven-twelve_ , around her was silence again, only interrupted by the grandfather clocks, it felt as if she had only imagined him.

_Twenty one-twenty two-twenty three, Draco!_

_Thirty five-thirty six "Draco?"_

"I'm here." He took her hand that had started trembling again and pushed something familiar into her palm. Her eyes shot open.

"You know what you do?"

"The war was good for something at least," she said, taking a last calming breath before holding onto her wand with white knuckles and went through the motions she had practiced in long hours sitting in a tent reeking of cat-piss somewhere in the British wilderness.

"You did it?" he asked.

Hermione nodded slowly, poking the tip of her Vinewood carefully at her leg and then very slowly bending the knee to test it. The flaring pain had ebbed away, replaced by a dull, pulsating ache.

He peeled the wand from her hand and pocketed it. Hermione was too exhausted to protest.

"Come on, let's get you to your room." Helping her stand, he took hold of her, one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand as if she was some old, fragile lady that needed to be led the way.

It still hurt like a bitch, and she had to brace herself against the banister, to keep from leaning against Draco for support.

Suddenly, he bent down and picked her up unceremoniously. She was embarrassed to hear a small squeal come from her lips before she could wrap her arms around his neck to hold onto him.

Taking care to not bump her leg into anything, he carried her back upstairs. "You really should stay in your room," he said. "Ought to keep you safe, remember? It's hard to do that when you try to kill yourself at every possible opportunity."

"As desperate as I am, all I want to do is live. You can believe me that."

"Well, you are sending mixed signals."

"Such as?"

"Clinging to me like a little monkey when you couldn't wait to erase every memory of you from my brain the moment you thought you were done with me?"

She held on tighter, nearly hugging him as he reached the last step and carried her down the hall to her room.

"It's not like you were meant to find out." She ignored his sneaky change of topic. There clearly was some hurt in the way he joked about her fucking him and then making sure he wouldn't remember any of it.

"Come now, little monkey. Be good, and let go so I can tuck you in." He deposited her on her bed.

She looked up at him and he tilted his head. "Can you get me some ice?"

He nodded and disappeared.

Only when he had left the room, she felt the tension slowly dissipate. It was as if all the unsaid words piled up, layer after layer, like a heavy blanket draped over everything.

She carefully peeled away her tights to get a better look at her leg. The area just above the ankle was swollen and a large bruise started to form. It was scary to look at and she had to clench her fingers into a fist to stop them from trembling as a second wave of shock set in.

The room started spinning, so Hermione lowered herself onto her back, trying to breathe deeply. The trembling took over her whole body and she had to close her eyes.

"Crap! I thought you healed it?"

She opened her eyes again and turned her head to find Draco standing in the door. "Healed the bones, though it was still broken for a couple of hours."

"Hours?" He sighed. "Does it hurt?"

"Not as bad as before, it just looks ugly, I suppose." He sat on the bed and something cool touched her leg. "Don't prod it!"

"It's just ice, just some ice."

She drew in another shaky breath. "It doesn't look too bad, does it?"

"You still got nice legs, Granger. I can barely keep myself from touching you," he joked.

Hermione snorted, but his joking, as annoying as it was, helped her to ease into the mattress below her somewhat and calm her nerves.

"The baby is fine by the way."

"What?" He scooted higher on the bed to get a proper look at her, leaving the pack of ice on her leg.

"Don't tell me you forgot why I'm actually here," she replied, sardonically. "I cast a quick diagnosis charm; it's healthy as can be."

"Oh, yeah, that's good, I guess."

"You guess?"

"As long as you are…"

"No! Don't say that!" She pushed up on her elbows, bringing her face closer to him. "You do _not_ get to actually care about how well I am. I know it's a confusing mess, but we are here for a reason, and it's not you caring for me!"

His lips thinned, and he sat up straighter, leaning away from her again. "How ironic when that's all I do lately. When every day I come home, I'm afraid you managed to kill yourself over trying another crazy abortion method. I'm worried that Potter will have my head for it because he'll blame me of course; I'm worried that the Ministry will feed me to the Dementors because they will blame me. I would most certainly blame me if I found you drowning in your own blood again!"

He breathed heavily, and Hermione was frozen in shock.

Looking at his hands, he said, "If you don't care about yourself, let me care at least."

They were silent for a while, she looking at him, he was avoiding her eyes. "What's in this for you?

He smiled down at her. "Who knows?"

On a whim, Hermione pushed up higher on her elbows, and before he could pull away, she kissed him. Just to see what it would feel like, what he would taste like. A free kiss without expectations, without charge.

He groaned and opened his mouth to hers.

His lips were hot and hard, taking and taking without apologizing for being greedy, hungry.

Hermione felt herself pushing into that, pressing to that force like a kitten snuggling closer to the warmth of a heater in winter. It was like she would be freezing if she didn't push all of herself into that kiss, as though it was the only source of warmth and air and nutrition. She could live off sunlight and his kisses, no food needed, not a single drop of water.

He pulled away, just a bit. "As much as I'd like to snog you for an hour or two, I really think I should get you some bruise paste for your leg. It'll turn all blue by tomorrow."

"Just summon it," she said impatiently and pulled him back towards her, but after just a few more kisses, he broke away again. "I'm afraid I don't have any in stock." He kissed her forehead and pushed her back down. "I'll be back," he promised with a wink.

Hermione sighed. The door closed with a small click behind him and suddenly, she was exhausted. Of course she was. She had broken her leg and had been snogged senseless like she hadn't been snogged since… since…

Well, Ron hadn't snogged her like that. He had been a great kisser, she had loved Ron's kisses, but thinking about them now felt like it had been in another life. _So far away._ Draco kissed her like Viktor had, with a quiet worship, an unspoken prayer on the tip of his tongue as it traced the edge of hers. Unlike Viktor, he wasn't hesitant or overly polite, however. He took as good as he gave.

She didn't hear Draco return, but she would swear that she felt him when his presence brushed against her dreams like a soft paintbrush adding highlights to a painting. She felt his fingers across her cheek. She dreamt about sunflowers and salty skin, of warm arms around her, hugging her to a warm chest.

* * *

It was a hot day, and even the massive walls of the townhouse couldn't keep all heat outside.

Hermione hadn't seen Draco for three days, not a single sliver of white blond hair or gleaming teeth flashing at her in a sardonic smirk.

She had laid herself bare, and he had run. The kiss had scared the shit out of her, and apparently, it had scared him off.

Her door was still unlocked and she stood at the threshold, staring into the empty hall. With an angry huffl, she kicked it shut again and went to take a shower instead. There was no way she'd come running after him like a lost Niffler.

She was wildly conflicted though.

The fever that had plagued her the last few weeks, had led her mind to form the realisation that these might very well be the last days she walked on this earth. Was she wasting them with spending her time confined to her room among the books Malfoy allowed her to read? Shouldn't she make the most of what time she had left?

Malfoy had more money than the Queen, so he could certainly provide her with anything she wanted. _With anything she wanted.._.

Standing under the warm spray of the shower, she heard him enter the other room.

"Granger? I swear, if you pull that shit again and bleed all over my—"

"Give me a goddamn minute, ferret!" she shouted and turned on the shower.

He had absolutely no sense of decency, probably had lost it sometime during the last few weeks, as he simply opened the bathroom door.

"Get the fuck out!"

"Oh, but I like the view."

"Creep."

Hermione decided that she could care less; the shower promised cleansing on multiple levels. She could finally wash off the sweat and rid herself of the feeling of lying under covers for too long. It had settled around her, on her body like a second layer. Like the warm, wrinkly skin of an old woman.

She let her head drop forwards and ignored Malfoy. The shower eased the tension in her shoulders as if the water could wash out the stress that had settled between her muscles and when she tilted her face up towards the spray, she could feel the water touch her cheeks with tender comfort.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione refused to feel ashamed for her nakedness as she stepped out of the shower and toweled off.

"I was ordered to check on you."

"That involves being a pervert and playing out your voyeuristic tendencies?"

"Oh, but you like it." He grinned. "Also, I have to make sure you don't slip and hit your head. A brain-dead mother isn't exactly a child's dream."

"A dead mother isn't either," she muttered under her breath.

"What's that?"

"Fuck off." She bent down to dry her toes.

"I'd rather fuck you."

She straightened up. "Excuse me?"

"I pay for your medical bills, take care of you, might as well have the whole marriage package if we're playing house already."

"Oh, aren't you a right misogynistic bastard?" She smiled sweetly.

"Keep telling yourself that."

She pulled on her panties and a dress that flowed over her belly. "I doubt you'll want to have sex with this in the way." She indicated down herself.

He looked strangely fascinated though. Opening his mouth as if wanting to say something he reconsidered and closed it again.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"I just—"

"Spit it out, Malfoy. You've called me a Mudblood our whole lives, I doubt there's anything worse than that." But there was…

"Can I touch it?"

"What?"

"I'm just… curious. Do you feel the baby? Is it moving?"

Hermione growled. "Cut the crap."

For a second, she thought he actually looked hurt.

"Don't you have anything better to do than getting on my nerves?" Squeezing past him, she bumped his shoulder.

"You and Weasley, why did it never happen?"

Hermione turned back to him, glaring. So he had eavesdropped on her and Harry the other day.

"He wanted family," she said. "I couldn't give him that, so I wasn't good enough."

Malfoy chuckled. He was cruel that was what he was, and frankly, Hermione didn't want his pity. "I never thought the Weasel would have the guts to escape your clutches."

"It was to your disadvantage, as I hold _you_ in my clutches now," she hissed.

"Do you hear me complaining?" Oh, she wanted to slap that grin right off his face.

"One could think you enjoy being forced into unwanted fatherhood by the bloody Ministry."

"Such foul language, what will the baby think? You're going to teach him the worst words before he has even left your womb."

"Because you're so certain it's a 'him'?" No, Hermione didn't want to go down that path. When she started thinking about whether it was a little baby boy or baby girl inside her, that was just leading to damnation.

Malfoy had drawn close to her, using light banter as a distraction to trap her between himself and the bed in her back.

"Were you serious?" she asked. Something hot had started to grow inside her, burning her insides like a newborn sun.

"About what?" He was now close enough that she could reach out and touch him.

"Fucking."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"I'm a _slut_ , remember?" She stepped into him, stopping just millimeters short of touching him as she boldly gazed up at his face.

Skepticism flashed behind those grey eyes. "What will it cost me?"

"I'm feeling generous today," she whispered, watching Malfoy's reaction as her breath tickled his lips.

One of his hands snaked around her waist, pulling her against his body. He was warm and smelled like sunshine and soft cotton.

He bent down to kiss her mouth, but Hermione turned her head and let her lips drop to his neck instead, tasting the skin just above the collar of his white, neatly pressed shirt.

It tasted salty from the warm day outside, reminding her of the sea, of the holiday she had spent with her parents in France.

"You'll have to make this worth it," she said, letting her teeth graze against his collarbone. She loved the feeling of his strong hands on her back, and then in the dip of her waist, just above her hips.

Sliding her dress off her shoulders, she let it drop down to his hands, and he pulled it over her hips until it pooled at her feet, leaving her completely exposed.

He moved further into her, pushing her back onto the bed, moving to kneel above her with his legs trapping hers.

Taking her face with soft fingers, he kissed the freckles on the bridge of her nose, on her cheeks, on top of her shoulders, between her breasts. "Lie back and relax," he whispered and pushed her down onto the covers.

His hands moved to cup her breasts, thumbs flicking over her nipples in a way that sent small jolts of pleasure to her brain. Hermione felt her body trembling, arching into him without her own doing.

Malfoy kissed his way further down her middle, kissed right along her median, the fine line where one half of her body met the other in perfect symmetry. Hermione wondered if he'd kiss all the way down to her labia.

He stilled above her protruding belly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against it, against the edge of the ugly scar marring her otherwise creamy skin. Hermione felt a kick, and he must have felt it too, because his eyes opened again with surprise. Dragging a hand from her breast to her abdomen, he caressed the stretched skin.

"Does that turn you on?" she taunted. "Feeling your baby kicking while you fuck me?"

He looked up at her. "Weirdly, it does." He bit her nipple, and she shrieked. It was only a tweak, but she knew it was his punishment.

"Better get used to that, Granger. Malfoy children are greedy little devils."

"You're revolting."

"And you are incredibly sexy with that belly."

She swatted him away, trying to move out from under him, but he pulled her back by her legs and lowered his head between her thighs, licking her cunt with one long stroke that sent shivers up her spine, pushing a sigh into her mouth, rendering her defenseless.

"I think," he said and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her clitoris, "that we should just embrace this." His thumb circled the spot where his lips had left her wanton and then he let it glide lower, pushing into her. "Enjoy it." His tongue darted out again to tease her. "And make the best of it." He pushed a second finger into her, stretching the walls a little further, and Hermione's head arched back as she fisted the sheets.

"Get out of those clothes. Now." Her voice was breathless but demanding enough to make him follow her command.

Watching her watch him, he removed first the shirt, then undid the belt buckle, and without further ado, slipped off his trousers and his boxers along with them, toeing out of his polished shoes as if he couldn't wait to touch her again with all layers in between removed.

Hermione wondered briefly what kind of conceited people wore shoes inside their own homes, but he was already upon her again, pushing her legs apart and nestled between them.

She reached down to position him, feeling him slide into her, mold to her body as if this was exactly how it was meant to be. They fit like a key to the right lock.

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back, feeling a delicious tingle where his lips trailed along her neck. She weaved her fingers in his soft hair and rose her hips to meet him, and for a second, Hermione was able to put all that was wrong aside.

For a moment she could forget that he was Malfoy and she was Granger, that she was pregnant and that it had caused her nothing but pain and grief. That it would likely mean the end of her short, wasted life. Her life had been lost between war and never quite fitting in. And then it had been lost between a nasty break up and self-pity. Always betwixt and between.

She could put all of that aside in the trembling highs of pleasure.

A sharp pain shot through her abdomen.

She gasped. "Stop."

Malfoy stilled above her, eyes still glazed with lust. For a second, Hermione thought she had just imagined it and pulled him close, feeling the need to have him deeper inside her, wanting to kiss him but restraining herself.

She yelped as a second, much stronger pain burned through her. It wouldn't cease, growing more prominent with every breath instead, and she was paralyzed.

"Granger? What—" He leaned back to look at her, and the movement sent another stab through her belly.

A low whimper escaped her. "Stop, stop. Don't move." Tears flooded her eyes, the haziness and pain made her disoriented.

Hermione was dimly aware that she was clinging to him, her nails burying into the flesh of his shoulders.

"Fuck. What's wrong?"

Malfoy did move now, and Hermione trembled as she bit her lip so hard she drew blood.

Catching a shaky breath, she tried to speak around the pain, but her whole body tensed, her eyes closed shut, her jaw locked.

"Granger. Talk to me." His voice was deadly calm, but his fingers were a nervous flutter along her cheeks.

"It hurts," she breathed.

Another wave hit her, and she couldn't keep the cry at bay this time. Arching her back involuntary, she screamed. But screaming, moving, crying made it worse, so much worse!

"It hurts!" Keeping her eyes open was painful. "It hurts!" Gasping for air was painful. "I'm dying, it's killing me!" Her heartbeat was pain, so much pain.

"Shh, don't talk." Somehow, he dressed within a matter of seconds, summoned a bathrobe for her and carefully, so carefully, wrapped it around her.

"Tipsy!"

The elf appeared.

"Alert St. Mungo's. Now!"

Tipsy squeaked and was gone.

"Come here." His voice was quiet, soothing, but her body was out of her control, shaking like a leaf in an autumn storm. Hermione felt light-headed, her mouth opening and closing for air, but her lungs wouldn't obey. Too much pain pierced her with every breath.

Her hand found the collar of his shirt, and her muscles cramped with strain. "Help me…"

"Hold on, you hear me?"

 _Hold on_. She managed to nod.

Malfoy picked her up gently like the breath of a butterfly, but it felt as if her body was ripped in half right along her navel, and Hermione nearly bit off her tongue.

The world tilted, and only when the corners of her field of vision edged closer, she realised that it wasn't because of Malfoy was now carrying her down the stairs as fast as he could without jostling her too much, but because her mind was shutting down.

The pain didn't go, but everything else just fell away as if it had sailed over the edge of the world and into the nothingness beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the light of things: I don't mean to shine a bad light on medical professionals with this story. They're doing a hard job and everyone is allowed to make mistakes.
> 
> All problems mentioned here are meant to address issues in society as a whole.
> 
> I'm thankfull for all hard working nurses and doctors and I hope my representation of both good an bad people working in the profession shows that there are people of all kinds with that job. I don't mean to present all medical workers as bad. 
> 
> (This story was written way before Corona, so read it as that, please :) )


	7. The Seventh Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> Malfoy picked her up gently like the breath of a butterfly, but it felt as if her body was ripped in half right along her navel, and Hermione nearly bit off her tongue.
> 
> The world tilted; her mind was shutting down.
> 
> The pain didn't go, but everything else just fell away as if it had sailed over the edge of the world and into the nothingness beyond.

The pain never left her. Like a lost adventurer in the Bermuda Triangle, Hermione was caught in the webs spun by her own mind, trapped between blinding agony and hazy silhouettes circling her like vultures waiting for her death.

She was left in that limbo for what felt like an eternity, her mind traveling to the moon and back with the speed of a snail melting on street asphalt in a scorching summer heat.

Then she was torn out of that nothing-space, the liminal between two worlds that wasn't quite defined by the laws of physics. It felt like being doused with a bucket of ice water, her skin burning up while freezing at the same time. She gasped for air, wrenching her eyes open, only to narrow them again, blinking against the bright light of sterile hospital lamps.

And with her consciousness, the pain in her abdomen returned tenfold, making her gasp for air like a marathon runner. She wanted to scream, but her lungs were expanding and expanding further to drag in as much air as possible, drowning in agony as her muscles seized up.

"Hermione, Hermione. Calm down." She reached out to hold onto that familiar voice, to not feel so lost anymore, hoping for him to pull her out of that agony flooding all her senses.

She cried, desperate to wash the pain out of her system with tears, but it was futile.

"Ha—Harry. It eats me from the inside. It hurts so much. Make them take it out!"

Harry murmured soothing, incomprehensible words, and after a while, Hermione stilled. Not because she felt reassured but because exhaustion claimed her yet again, darkness edging in like a looming shadow, and she fell asleep without knowing where consciousness ended and coma began.

* * *

She woke up several hours later, the pain pulsing through her in waves that washed up against her ribcage with the force of a tsunami. Staring emptily at everything and nothing, she started to cry again, her whole body trembling and helpless against the onslaught.

Through the haze of her tears, she noticed movement to her right and she turned her head.

Malfoy was there, sitting in the armchair beside her hospital bed. He watched her, but his face was distorted by her tears. She couldn't stop crying.

It must be an ugly view, Hermione thought. She had never been a pretty crier. She choked and then coughed.

She was struggling to breathe when she saw him moving. Kneeling in front of her, he took her hand, and it was like she had found an anchor in the wild, untamed sea.

His thumb wiped across her cheek, and he didn't let go of her hand. Sitting down onto the cold floor, his shoulder leaned against the bed, he played with her fingers.

"I'll die, Draco. I'll die."

He didn't answer.

"The scar you asked me about…" She swallowed. "In fifth year when Dolohov hit me with that curse in the Ministry—Madam Pomfrey told me afterwards—told me to avoid getting pregnant. 'It isn't safe', she told me. This baby will kill me."

She pressed her eyes closed as more tears welled up.

"I don't want to die," she whispered. "My life is shit, but I could give it another try. I can do better. Right?"

Ron had turned her down after she had confessed that she wouldn't be able to give him children. 'I love you, Hermione,' he had said, 'but I want to be a dad one day. I want a family. My own family, one with red-heads with hundreds of freckles, but we both know I can't have that family with you.'

'You'll have me,' she had answered, tears very much like those she cried now on her face, feeling like her life was about to end. 'And Harry and everyone else. Isn't that family enough?'

'I'm sorry, Hermione. You have to understand…'

And now Malfoy got what she couldn't give Ron. She should have never been able to get pregnant at all, even without the contraceptives! Of all people, it was Draco-fucking-Malfoy who had knocked her up.

And it was Draco who now had to hold her hand as she was slowly dying. He didn't deserve this.

* * *

She drifted in and out of consciousness, occasionally feeling the presence of people around her, hearing indiscernible voices, seeing distorted faces looking down at her.

Those glimpses at the world were intermitted by long stretches of darkness, loneliness. She was mute, deaf and blind, only feeling. Feeling pain.

And ever present was the _stench_ of her own fear. She was absolutely terrified of dying.

* * *

The next time Hermione was fully awake, there was shouting. Anger tainted the air like the pungent stench of a public latrine.

"I don't understand why you just wait. What do you think is going to happen? Do something, for God's sake! Perform a cesarean; what is so difficult about that? Are you a bloody gourd with seeds for brains? I won't stand by and watch her die!"

"Mr. Potter, what you are saying makes no sense. We can't do anything in this situation, we have to wait for the child to be born."

"Who the fuck cares about natural childbirth? Isn't her life and the child's life, for that matter, more important?"

"Natural … what on earth are you talking about? You seem agitated Mr. Potter. If you don't calm down and leave, I'll be forced to call security."

Hermione noted that the usually calm voice of the Mediwitch seemed flustered.

There was a brief silence before Harry talked again, disbelief colouring his tone. "You have no clue what a cesarean is, do you?" Another pause. "Oh bloody hell, Hermione, why do you always have to be right? I'm surrounded by medieval idiots."

_Duh_! Hermione wanted to reply, but her body was heavy, her lips felt like they were sealed with superglue.

And her body was still on fire! A blazing fire, like she was being roasted alive inside the scorching pits of Hell; her mind struggled to comprehend the pain, but it couldn't block it out either; it was maddening torture.

"Get her into a Muggle clinic. Now. They will know what to do."

"I think you should leave now, Mr Potter." The Mediwitch sounded scandalised. "We won't let her abort this child."

"It's not a fucking abortion! She's in her seventh month of pregnancy—the baby will be perfectly fine with some Muggle meds! Get her to a clinic or I'll—"

"You have no authority here, Mr. Potter! Miss Granger is neither your spouse nor does she carry your child."

Malfoy's sharp voice cut through the bitter rage emitting from Harry. "Do what he says."

"But Mr. M—"

"It's my bloody child, isn't it?"

"Yes, but—"

"I won't stand by and watch her or the baby die because you are too goddamn proud to rely on Muggle medicine. I don't bloody care who treats her as long as she gets to live."

That was a surprise. Draco- _sodding_ -Malfoy was ready to put all his Muggle prejudices aside to save her. Her heart did a funny thing through the pain, where it seemed to contract and squeeze like a sponge, sending tears right from her very core to her eyes.

Someone cared about her—this was more than Harry caring for her as a friend; this was more than Molly caring for her as a surrogate mother. This was _Draco_ caring for her as an unexpected lover.

She felt them moving her, but her grip on reality was slipping.

Her body begged to cry, to scream and thrash to channel that awful pain into something. Anything. But Hermione could only cry and scream on the inside, into the vastness of her mind where no one heard her. Except she could swear that the thing inside her was crying with her, was kicking and screaming its little lungs out.

_I'm sorry_ , she wanted to say. She wanted to cradle it and soothe it, make empty promises that the pain would end.

"Granger—Hermione. Listen." Draco's voice was close. "They'll take it out, you'll be okay. The baby will be okay. Just hold on. You just hold on okay?" _I can't_. "Because I'm not fucking ready to be a father on my own. I don't care how much it hurts, you won't fucking die on me right now. Do you hear me? "

_But I will_ , she wanted to say, _and it will die with me. Don't you hear us screaming?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betas: Nora Fares and FantasticLavenderCrystals


	8. The Eigth Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roses symbolise love
> 
> Chapters are getting shorter, sorry D;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> "Granger—Hermione. Listen." Draco's voice was close. "They'll take it out, you'll be okay. The baby will be okay. Just hold on. You just hold on okay?" I can't. "Because I'm not fucking ready to be a father on my own. I don't care how much it hurts, you won't fucking die on me right now. Do you hear me? "
> 
> But I will, she wanted to say, and it will die with me. Don't you hear us screaming?

Hermione knew that something was gone. She couldn't really feel any part of her body, her consciousness had been artificially detached from all the pain and her body left in numb non-existence. But one thing was certain. She was no longer pregnant. Hermione couldn't quite pin down where that feeling came from, considering that she didn't really feel her body. She just knew that the thing—the baby—was no longer with her.

It didn't give her any relief though. For all she tried, her body remained detached, her attempts to wake it up fruitless. She was again a prisoner, this time of her own body, unable to be part of the physical world any longer. Maybe she had turned into a ghost, she thought. She had read about the transitional phase ghosts went through after their initial death. The thought horrified her, so she refused to dwell on it.

Focusing on every part of her body she could remember possessing, she pushed her mind out, forcing it inside her limbs to grasp onto that dead, empty shell of herself.

She was about to give up, to let her mind snap back into the small ball of helplessness like a rubber band, when she heard him...

"I don't trust the Muggles," Draco said somewhere to the left of her. "They look at me strangely." Then she smelled the flowers. Roses, sweet and rich, the scent carried to her nose by a slight breeze coming through a window someone had opened. She clearly felt the soft touch of cool air on her skin. "Yesterday, the nurse flirted with Potter and the Weaselette saw; it was the best thing I have witnessed in years." He chuckled, but quickly went quiet.

Hermione tried to move, to indicate that she listened.

_Don't stop talking._

Focusing all her mental capabilities into her hands, she tried to move her fingers. Summoning her magic, she tried to do anything, tried to let something float, catch fire, explode. Accidental magic was a tricky thing. It was easy when you didn't try _so hard_.

"Potter said 'hello'. If they'd let him, he'd stay here all day." Draco sighed. "I'll be back tomorrow."

_Don't go._

But she was already alone.

* * *

Between dreams and reality was a fine line as her day consisted of her conjuring up colorful images inside her inner eye to keep herself occupied. To keep herself focused and awake.

Draco came back as promised, frustration radiating from him like heat waves. "Damn, Hermione. Wake up already. Potter is going crazy." _Are you going crazy too?_ "The Weaselette started crying, and I had to hold her brat for nearly half an hour, until Potter finally calmed her down."

* * *

She heard him again much later. "She's beautiful, you know? Has more hair on her head than any other baby, the staff here say. Aren't babies supposed to be bald or something?"

_It's a girl. My baby girl. Tell her I love her. Tell her I'm sorry for all the pain._

* * *

The next time he was there, Draco was talking as if he didn't expect her to listen anymore. He talked as if he wanted to fill the silence hanging over her hospital bed with _something_ , irrelevant chatter to keep up the pretense of her being still alive.

"Forget the hair thing. She's just as bald as Slughorn now." _I want to see her. "_ It looks awful, I even tried hair growing potion."

He gently lowered something to her chest, and her heart nearly stopped when she felt tiny hands grasping her locks. "Potter said the hair will grow back at some point, but I'm a bit worried that it might not happen. We'll have a freak child without hair. Can you imagine the gossip? Well, I'm rich. I'm sure they make wigs for babies too…"

* * *

At one point, he grew silent, but Hermione still felt him. Sometimes, she felt his hand in hers, sometimes just his presence. Once, she thought he was lying next to her on the narrow bed. But that must have been her imagination.

Hermione realized that he actually hadn't stopped talking with her when the blanket of silence expanded to all noises. Like heavy snow, it muted all sound around her.

She tried to strain her ears, to listen with more intent, but it was hard to concentrate.

At one point, she couldn't feel the warmth of the blanket and the cool breeze from the window caressing her face any longer. It was hard to tell what she felt when she couldn't tell hot from cold anymore. She found herself drifting off more time than she was fully aware of her surroundings.

The last thing she heard was the cry of a baby. But maybe that was just her imagination, maybe that was what awaited her beyond the veil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for all the cliffhangers D; One short chapter left :')
> 
> Betas: Nora Fares and FantasticLavenderCrystals


	9. The Ninth Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We reached the final chapter (chapter 10 will be an alternative ending)
> 
> Big thanks to my two betas Nora Fares and FantasticLavenderCrystals for their endless patience and honesty!
> 
> Daffodils symbolise rebirth and new beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> The last thing she heard was the cry of a baby. But maybe that was just her imagination, maybe that was what awaited her beyond the veil.

Bright light, clean sheets, a machine beeping in regular beats.

Hermione woke so suddenly and completely, it felt impossible that she had been unconscious until that moment. She wasn't groggy, her eyes adjusted to the light in a matter of seconds, and her body felt rested and calm like it hadn't been in years.

She was alone and for a blessed minute, she just looked out the window, letting her thoughts wander along the white frame towards the handle and then out into the world beyond the room full of high tech and pale, egg yolk-colored walls.

Daffodils smiled at her from a small nightstand. She knew who had left them, and she returned their smile with one of her own.

Her expression faltered when she turned away from the window and spotted the empty crib to her left. Where was her baby?

A nurse walked in, and upon seeing Hermione awake, she alerted a doctor.

She endured the examinations, not daring to speak the question that was burning her tongue. She tried to suppress the creeping urge to demand to see her child. She had heard her crying, had practically felt her little arms reaching for her.

"Your child is healthy and has grown considerably in the last few weeks." _Weeks_. "She's at the average weight for a newborn now, so there shouldn't be any complications."

"I—" Her voice was rusty, forcing her to clear her throat. "I want to see her."

"Of course. Your—the father has taken care of her so far; she was in good hands." The doctor smiled at her, and Hermione was sure he had meant to say husband but had changed his mind.

A nurse walked in with a small angel in her arms. Malfoy was right behind her, looking extremely irritated. "I can carry her," he said.

The nurse ignored him and placed the little cherub on Hermione's chest.

Draco had been right, _she was bald like Slughorn,_ but that was where the similarities ended. She had the most beautiful eyes, large and curious as they gazed up at her.

She was incredibly tiny for a human. How could a person be this small?

Carefully, Hermione wrapped her hands around the fragile body, feeling her warmth mingle with her own.

"She's missed you." She looked up at Draco. He nervously fiddled with his sleeves. "I missed you too."

It was so quiet that she had nearly missed it.

"Did you—" Hermione stumbled a bit over her words. "Did you name her already?"

"Of course. Lucia Bellatrix."

Hermione choked.

Draco laughed.

"Fucking ferret," she growled.

"Sorry, I just couldn't miss the opportunity." He quickly sobered up. "Say hi to Anthea."

Hermione looked at the small fist closing around her locks. "It's Greek," she whispered.

Draco shrugged casually. As if it was just a minor detail that had escaped him until this point. As if he hadn't chosen it on purpose. For her.

"Where's Harry?"

"I sent him home a couple of hours ago. His wifey gets on my nerves. Why?"

"Well, I did promise him to make him godfather of my first born…"

He groaned. "Of course you did."

"You're right, he's not ideal. Maybe I should ask Ron instead."

Now it was Draco's turn to choke. "Bloody hell, I object!"

Hermione laughed.

The sun was warm on her face as she stroked her daughters head.

"What now?" she asked.

Draco still stood awkwardly by her bed, as if waiting for something, as if an invisible wall was keeping them apart.

She reached for his hand and his fingers were warm in hers. A soft sigh escaped him, and he bent over, gently kissing her forehead. "Whatever you want, little monkey."

Before he could pull back, she raised her hand to his cheek. "I want to burn someone's house down."

He let her pull him closer, his lips bending into a smirk as he pecked her lips this time. "I hope it's not mine."

"No, that one is a nice house. I'll have to find out who is responsible for all the shit they put me through."

He hummed. "I thought you might like a vacation, somewhere far away so you'll feel less need to swear in the presence of our daughter."

"Hermione Granger doesn't run away," she said challengingly.

He smiled. "Of course not."

_Not anymore_ , she added mentally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my readers, I got sooo many reviews for this and every single one of them made me happy <3
> 
> If you are interested in my alternative ending, I'll upload an additional chapter with that for the curious ones who can't get enough of this story :D Although, I'm quite happy with the ending as it is now. Maybe it's a little on the sweet side, but after all this angst and tragedy, I needed something to soothe my soul, and I think you needed it too ;)
> 
> If you want more Dramione from me, you should definitely check out Threats and Treason!


	10. ALTERNATIVE ENDING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This alternative ending is right after Hermione wakes up and meets her daughter. I chose the other one because it had more Dramione and because at that point, Hermione's character development was a little different so you will see it doesn't fit as well at the real ending.
> 
> It's still a HEA, but with a more sad note to it.
> 
> THIS IS NOT AN ADDITIONAL CHAPTER BUT SOMETHING I HAD WRITTEN IN AN EARLIER STAGE OF MY WRITING PROCESS. For anyone interested in additional chapters or a sequel, you are welcome to write it (as long as you mention my story in the A/N) :) I already moved on to new projects and won't continue this one.
> 
> I hope you like it! Let me know what you think of this version compared to the other :)
> 
> Thanks to FantasticLavenderCrystals for a last minute beta of this!

ALTERNATIVE ENDING

"You need to stop running away, Hermione."

She whirled around in the wide hospital hall.

_Ginny._

Hermine straightened up. She opened her mouth to reply something, anything, a bad rebuttal better than the truth, but Ginny beat her to it.

"Don't even try to lie to me. I can see it in your eyes—that panic that everything will go downhill, that everyone will leave you just because my brother fucked everything royally up with you."

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line: "Why do you care?"

Ginny sighed. "Of course I care. We are friends."

"Bullshit," snapped Hermione; that was just a ridiculous statement. "If you had your way, I would have never been godmother of Jamie.

"Jamie has nothing to do with this. You are unstable, and I want to know he's safe."

"Well, you can have that now. I won't bother you or your precious family anymore."

"And leave your daughter with Malfoy?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you will extend your motherly instincts, Ginny. You seem to have plenty of them."

"Listen, Hermione." Ginny took a step closer, cornering her. "Your baby might be doing well, she might grow up to be a lovely young witch, probably with enormous talent. She will receive all the love she needs, because we will always be close. But what about him? Malfoy is… well, he's Malfoy, but he's decent, you know? He cares."

Hermione snorted. "That's a contradiction if I heard one."

"He's been here for weeks." Ginny looked her in the eyes, a serious heaviness settling over her face like a sad blanket. "He waited and waited, talking to you until the nurses kicked him out late at night; he brought ridiculous amounts of flowers, practically purchased the whole florist's."

Hermione felt her lower lip trembling. She couldn't do this. Couldn't listen to this, couldn't know that he had been a better person to her than Ron had ever been when they were together and were happy, couldn't know that he cared!

"Malfoy might have been a prick in school, and he's still not a nice person by any stretch of the imagination," Ginny continued. "But he loves his daughter, has cared for her this whole time, asked me a hundred and one questions every day how to do things the proper way, always afraid of messing up."

That was reassuring, Hermione thought. She could safely leave her daughter with him—he'd take good care of her, he'd give her love and a stable life and happiness.

"And, you know what? I think he cares about you just as much."

A cold pin pricked her heart, sharp pain flashing through her chest. "You don't know a thing, Ginny." Hermione reached to collect her bag.

"Don't you dare!" Ginny looked furious now. "You have no right to leave your daughter; you are her mother, and you shouldn't leave him either!"

"I believe that is my decision," Hermione said, walking away with every intention of vanishing on the spot.

"So you're doing the same thing Ron did?" Ginny called after her.

Hermione froze.

"You're just going to chicken out? Hurt everyone because you're bloody selfish?"

It was a low blow. So low that it hit her straight in the gut like a Beater's bat. It was low, and she resented Ginny for it, but it was true, so fucking true that it _hurt_.

"I won't ever be a good mum, Ginny," Hermione said, her voice suddenly as quiet as a whisper. "I can barely hold my life together, I'm falling apart every single day."

Ginny came after her, turning her around, both hands on her shoulders. "Then get help. We are your friends and even if you are too stubborn to see that, we are here for you. We would never leave you."

 _But they had_ ; she had been alone this whole time.

Poisonous tears leaked from her eyes, and suddenly Hermione felt like an eleven year old girl again, crying because she had no friends. "Ha—arry…. l—left me in this mess..."

"And I gave him hell for that," Ginny said vehemently, pulling Hermione close. "I told him if he'd be a tosser and leave you fighting this alone, I'd take Jamie and move in with mum and dad again. I told him he'd never get to see his son again until he decided to be a decent friend and a role model for Jamie.

Ginny hugged her. "I know—I know I can be selfish and a bitch. But I consider you a friend and I care about you, Hermione. P—please don't ruin this for yourself or your daughter," she said.

"I really can't leave now, can I? Why did I ever think that was an option? What kind of mother am I, Ginny?"

"You can learn to be a mother, Hermione. But you can't run from it. Hell, I don't think Malfoy deserves that even!"

They laughed a teary laugh as Hermione held onto Ginny.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this little alternative Ginny/Hermione scene :)


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